<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Remember Me When by BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981384">Remember Me When</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster'>BossToaster (ChaoticReactions)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Galaxy Garrison, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Shiro and Keith are the same age, Slow Burn, Time Travelling Keith, Time Travelling Shiro, kind of?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:27:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>101,309</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25981384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChaoticReactions/pseuds/BossToaster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>At ten years old, Keith wakes up with memories of an alternative life. Lions, alien rebellions, a family. It doesn't seem like it can be real, but he wants to believe it in.</p><p>At ten years old, Shiro wakes up from a dream of another life. Kidnapping, Voltron, his own death. People he loves, at the cost of so much pain and struggle.</p><p>As far as they know, no one else has had these strange experiences. They put them aside as they grow up.</p><p>Years later, they meet.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Shiro (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>362</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>465</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is very very loosely based on a piece of art I saw on Twitter, but is long gone in the timeline. If anyone knows what I'm talking about, let me know.</p><p>This is a long one, folks. I'm not done yet (I'm a bit more than 3/4ths through), and it's already about 70k.</p><p>Strap in.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith is ten years old when he remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s as simple as waking, because that’s what it feels like. One moment he’s asleep, the next he’s awake - his habit after a few too many foster homes with sticky fingered ‘siblings’. But nothing woke him except the end of the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A very long, very complicated dream. One of growing up, of going to the Galaxy Garrison. Aliens, lions, the universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith reaches under his pillow and pulls out the familiar knife. When he unwinds the binding, the symbol on the hilt is the same as it’s ever been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dream (was it a dream? It had felt so coherent, so long), it had been the symbol of an alien rebellion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closes his eyes and concentrates, heart pounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knife stays a knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares down at the blade, not sure what he expected. Of course it’s a knife. It’s the same one he’s had for years, since his father handed it over and taught him how to use it safely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shoving the knife back under his pillow, Keith flops back and closes his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects the weird dream-knowledge to fade, like cotton candy in a downpour. Even his most vivid recurring nightmares in the past have always become flashes of imagery that make his throat tighten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not this. Laying down, eyes closed, Keith can recall every detail as if he’s lived extra decades overnight. He remembers how, a year from now, he moves to a new home with the couple that give less of a damn than usual. Those are the days he learns to fight dirty, to pick-pocket and even jumpstart a car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those are the parents he’s with when the Garrison sends Shiro to his school. When he steals the car, finally gets sent to Juvie, only to be sprung and sent to an elite pilot school instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers the years of teasing that hurt more than ever, because he finally had something to lose. He remembers having support for the first time since his father died. He remembers that support leaving on a mission to prove he was more than his disease, only to disappear for a year. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembers Voltron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sleeps again, because he’s learned to crash wherever he can. When he wakes, the dream-knowledge clings to his mind through the day, then the next, then the next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith goes to school, learns his lessons (figurative and literal). He listens to the taunts from the other children, but they don’t ignite the same fury in him that they used to. If anything, they make him want to laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>How else is he supposed to react to being called a ‘dummy’ from a 10 year old? Or when he gets a cartoon drawing of himself with a grumpy face and stink lines coming off of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few days ago, Keith would have choked back his hurt with anger. Now, he can’t be bothered. He remembers facing off against an alien empire. He remembers the cruel taunts of his best friend, made into a puppet by their mutual enemy. Their childish attempts to annoy him are... exactly that. Childish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith ignores it. That eggs on the bullies, confused by lack of his usually enjoyable rage. But eventually they leave him be, especially when his suddenly improved test scores confuse but endear him to the teachers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dream knowledge is strange. Obviously it can’t be real. There were aliens and robot lions and teleporting dogs. But it bolsters Keith in a way he never knew he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s capable of more than he ever knew was possible. He’s not just some angry mongrel no one wants. In his dreams, he’s a war hero, a pilot, a friend. He’s loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not real, but Keith feels like it could be. And maybe that was all he needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At ten years old, Shiro’s life is turned upside down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, shortly after his birthday, what should have been a routine check-up became tests and quiet conversations between his Grandfather and the doctor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d tried to smile for him, plying him with stickers and superhero bandaids. But Shiro was far too old for such babyish distractions, and eventually they told him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something wrong with Shiro. He was sick, and he always had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a flu, but something in his muscles. Something that would get worse and worse and someday he wouldn’t be able to walk around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It wasn’t until he was older that Shiro understood the full consequences. This wouldn’t just rob him of his legs. It would be his mobility, and someday his entire life. But that was later. Today, the news was bad enough).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, his Grandfather takes him to a physical therapist. They make him do all kinds of strange stretches with his arms and legs. They’re boring and repetitive, but his Grandfather insists. He makes Shiro do them every day before he goes to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, Shiro skips. He doesn’t want to do the stupid stretches. No one else he knows has to. They’re uncomfortable and weird and he just wants to go to bed, or maybe keep reading his latest books. But when Grandfather finds out, he’s so disappointed that Shiro feels terrible. So he does them. Mostly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few months after that, Shiro wakes up with a gasp. He stares at his ceiling, covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. At first, he’s calm. But the more he remembers what happened in his dreams, the more he starts to shake. Tears form in his eyes, and he turns over to hide his face in his pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t want to cry, some way he doesn’t want to do his stupid exercises. Even more than that, he doesn’t want his Grandfather to hear him cry. Shiro’s ten, not a little kid. He shouldn’t be crying over a dumb dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except it wasn’t a dumb dream. It was so much more than that. Years and years of going to school, trying his hardest, pushing for his dreams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Becoming a pilot, meeting a boy he loved. Choosing between them. Mentoring first Keith, then others - but only after a year of torture and captivity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fighting a war. Being a clone. Dying - twice, one for each version.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pushes his face into the pillow harder and shakes. The tears sting his eyes, but he has more practice pushing them away than he did before he slept. He takes a deep breath, then another, counting it from a habit and anxiety technique he’s never learned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a dream. Shiro doesn’t know how it could possibly be anything else. Voltron, the Galra, paladins - it was like everything he loved and feared from his life and his favorite stories turned into one strange mush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his dreams, Shiro had died. In his dreams, Shiro had lived. His disease was cured in the strangest possible way. He’d made it to 30 - an age he would have called painfully old yesterday, and now is tragically young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he has control of himself, Shiro climbs out of bed - his right arm feels oddly heavy, suddenly physical and flesh. He turns on the light of his room and turns in place, just looking over it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all exactly as he left it. A bookshelf full of fantasy novels and child-level pilot biographies. The posters of planes from decades and centuries past. The stuffed dog he’s guiltily never been able to let go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as it should be. But it still makes Shiro feel like his stomach wants to climb out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dream. An upsetting one. Maybe it was stress, which Grandfather keeps talking about like another creeping disease. It’s bad for him. They need less of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro snorts. Dark, cynical amusement rises in him. Yeah, less stress. Like that’s ever been his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Shiro climbs back into bed and pulls up the covers. He’s determined to get back to sleep and forget all about alien prisons and robot lions and endless voids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He doesn’t get back to sleep, and he tries not to compare it to phantom years of insomnia in an alien castle.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He also doesn’t turn the light off.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, groggy and grumpy, Shiro stumbles downstairs. He finds his Grandfather already up (as always), preparing a light breakfast (as always), and humming along to an old record (as always).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all so normal, but it fills Shiro with a desperate nostalgia. Once again he finds himself swallowing back his emotions. This time, he can’t quite manage it. He surges forward and grabs his Grandfather in a fierce hug from behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never forgets the strange dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also never skips his arm stretches again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his school gets a presentation from a member of the Galaxy Garrison, Keith holds his breath. Over the years, he’s gotten pretty good at ignoring the strange knowledge in the back of his head. Sometimes it helps (like with school), but usually it’s just a distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This, though. This is important. Keith should ignore it, but he can’t. Not when it was so critical in his dreams. Not when the person was so critical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith catches sight of the officer, his stomach drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shakes his head, trying to laugh at his own ridiculousness. It’s exactly like the night he’d tried to make his knife into a sword. It’s not real. How could it be Shiro?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But just like before, his throat tightens against a swell of emotion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Keith doesn’t sulk near the back, and this time the officer makes no attempt to engage any stragglers. His teacher recommends Keith - not James Griffin, who isn’t in his class. His natural skill (and the same memory sense that makes his classes easy) immediately top his classmate’s scores. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The officer - whose name Keith never bothers to learn - smiles at him with shining, greedy eyes. His speeches about the Garrison’s opportunities lack the sincerity and kindness from Keith’s dream. Instead, he speaks lowly to teachers and foster parents about scholarships, discipline, and opportunities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith still finds himself enrolled in the Galaxy Garrison. But he can’t help the boiling disappointment in his stomach. This officer would never pick the scruffy kid watching warily from the back. This officer smiles like Keith is a feather in his cap, not a person who needs a helping hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not fair to compare him to Keith’s memory. But the rage burns in Keith’s chest anyway. This man isn’t fair either, not to anyone but the star, so Keith doesn’t bother to feel bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this is what the Garrison is really like, then maybe Keith can finally let his dream go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he still wants to fly, and there’s not many better chances for the short-tempered kid from foster care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll try. But Keith is pretty sure reality will fall far short of his dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It usually does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his first day at the Galaxy Garrison, Shiro could fly without a plane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After his dream, which had never really faded, Shiro had hesitated. All the pain in that strange phantom life had come from joining the Garrison - his relationship had broken apart, his dreams had become a race against the clock, his attempt to prove himself right had ended in torture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the good things had come from there too. He’d met all the paladins through the Garrison, and they’d become a family he’d never known he needed. Working with them and defending the universe had given him a purpose besides his ache to prove himself before his body gave out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s dreams were fundamentally selfish. With the benefit of ‘hindsight’, he could see that. He wanted to fly, and he wanted to do it before he couldn’t. That need had turned into something greater and more fulfilling: helping others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he’d signed up for the Galaxy Garrison. He’d taken their tests, excelled and absorbed the praise like a sponge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And just before he’d been set to go, Shiro hesitated again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his dream, Shiro’s Grandfather died in three years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the dream was silly, but some of it was handy. Some of it was true. His knowledge of math and science, for example, or how he knew how to drive a car before his first lesson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro didn’t fully believe the details. But there was enough proof to make him pause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I should stay,” Shiro had said, looking down (no longer up) at his Grandfather and forcing on a smile. He wanted to reach out and take his hand, but that wasn’t like him. Big affectionate scenes just weren’t what they were like, especially not at this age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather had paused and stared, then laughed. “You would go crazy,” he’d said. Reaching up, he squeezed Shiro’s shoulder (a gesture that, even now, still made him think of friends he’d never made). “This is where you belong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could belong at home,” Shiro said back, voice tight with a fear he’d never wanted to explain. He was already physically sick - he didn’t need to be mentally sick too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do. You always will.” Grandfather squeezed again, then patted Shiro on the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve worked hard for this. Go show them what you can do. I want to see you be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Go. Be great.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiled and fought back the lump in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could stay home. But, like he’d said, his dreams were fundamentally selfish. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It wasn’t real. Shiro didn’t believe it was real.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(But he gave his Grandfather an extra long hug and swore to call as often as he remembered.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so Shiro entered his first day of class at the Garrison with his heart pounding, but in excitement and fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His heart, which jolted when he saw a very familiar face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had steeled himself to face Adam, if indeed he existed. But if he’s there, Shiro doesn't see him, because he can’t tear his eyes away from someone else. Someone he remembers, but not here, not now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because on the other side of the room, eyes forward and expression bored, is Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s achingly familiar, even at this age. Young, scruffy, jaw set. He looks at once like someone expecting sharp words, but who doesn’t care about anyone else’s opinion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dream... it couldn’t be real. It was too surreal, too ridiculous. Surely, this is coincidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Coincidence like knowing the progression of his disease. Like knowing his lessons before they were taught. Like a terrible phone call three years from now.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares, only dragging his eyes away when role call starts. His heart pounds, and he briefly wonders if maybe it’s just a coincidence. Maybe he just has a face that kind of sort of looks like Shiro remembers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except it’s Iverson who steps out to test them (Iverson, who helped Shiro succeed, who held him back from Kerberos, who apologized and worked for him later). And it’s that familiar drawl that says “Kogane.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Keith says, the kind of flat voice that makes Iverson’s remaining eye tighten in instinctive annoyance. Shiro wants to speak up, to say it’s not intentional, not meant to be disrespectful. But he doesn’t know that (except that he does).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro keeps his eyes firmly on Iverson for the rest of the class. He purposely doesn’t look over at Keith. Instead, he watches the gaze of his old mentor for any sign of recognition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never comes. Shiro lets out his breath, and manages not to flinch when the call of “West” gets an equally familiar reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows these people. But they don’t know him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It’s a dream, it’s a dream, it’s a dream. Shiro’s struggles don’t end in torture. They can’t.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro barely hears a word of Iverson’s lesson, which is fine. This early in the semester it’s all going over the syllabus and a little grandstanding. Real lessons won’t start until early next week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He shouldn’t know that.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As all of them file out of the classroom, Shiro’s eyes briefly follow the familiar head of blonde hair. He can’t see Adam’s face, but he thinks he’ll still have those awful, chunky glasses he had in the first two years of the Garrison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the summer of the third, they’ll fly off on Shiro’s speeder while visiting. Shiro will apologize for weeks after, and blush at how the new pair make his eyes so bright and pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe he won’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s tempting to trail after Adam. To speak to him, and hope against hope that he sees recognition in those eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s not him he follows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Shiro turns the other direction and follows the messy, long, tousled dark hair. He catches up, and briefly sees Keith start when he realizes someone is walking right next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares at Shiro, jaw set, eyes flat and emotionless. Defensive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t reach out his hand to clasp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurts, but Shiro plasters on the smile instead. He holds out his own hand, holding the strap of his bag with the other, and doesn’t let any of the pain show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He’s good at that: it’s a learned skill.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Shiro,” he says, casual and bright. “Well, Takashi. But everyone calls me Shiro. What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long pause. Keith’s hands flicker down to Shiro’s right hand, as if it’s a strange creature. “Keith,” he says, quiet and rough. “Did you need something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh.” Shiro lets his hand drop. He fights off a blush, mostly because it’s mortifying to feel like a weirdo in front of someone who feels like his best friend. “No? I mean, yes, but...” He shrugs. “Just a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith continues to stare. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, yeah, obviously that didn’t work. It hadn’t since Shiro was a little kid and being friends meant sharing crayons. What was he thinking? That was so corny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nevermind,” Shiro says, hating the way his throat feels so tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It was a dream. This isn’t the best friend he ever had. This isn’t the beautiful man who wouldn’t let him fall.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a quiet noise, but Shiro refuses to look back and show his bright red face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead he picks up the pace and wishes he’d never dreamt anything in the first place.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s no surprise Keith has already fucked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith had already been set against the Garrison. Physically being in the building brought up complicated emotions. The frustration, the rage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered why he hated this place so deeply when he’d first come, and when Shiro had been gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the brief time between moving in and classes, Keith had looked. He’d wandered down halls, looking over the signs and offices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many of them were familiar: Iverson, Montgomery, De Santos, Holt. The last he saw at his desk, head down as he spoke on the phone. He addressed ‘Colleen’, and Keith’s stomach dropped out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter where he looked there was no Takashi Shirogane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Keith had settled in, arms crossed. He stared down Iverson in his first class and sharply replied to his name. He didn’t give a fuck about being rude. Iverson hadn’t liked him then, and he wouldn’t now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except, when he least expected it, Iverson called the name he’d been waiting for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shirogane.” Keith turned, expecting to see that familiar face come in through a door. He’d be smiling that polite smile he used when trying to be a good example, shoulders unnaturally set.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No one was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” said a voice, almost familiar, but a touch higher pitched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stared at the side of the head of dark, shorn hair. The profile, familiar but soft and small.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro, but not. Shiro, but a boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through his memories, Keith could look back on the Shiro he’d first met, young and idealistic. That had been a boy too, though he hadn’t felt that way at the time. But this was different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wasn’t an officer because Shiro hadn’t graduated. Because he was in Keith’s class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith spent probably ten minutes just staring. Shiro never looked over, attentively watching Iverson as if rapt with the mundanity of a syllabus. It didn’t seem like the man he knew, but, well, it wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t until some of the other students noticed Keith’s staring that he was able to drag his eyes away. After, he stared at his desk, letting the useless information pass over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as they were dismissed, Keith grabbed his bag and made for the door. No one stopped him or called out, though he got a couple of odd looks for his abrupt charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, so Keith thought. Then there was a presence at his side. Already tense, Keith turned to look at the intruder. After his odd staring, he expected someone to tease him about his fascination with a classmate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, it was Shiro, bright-eyed and determined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith immediately fucked it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their first interaction was equally brief and painful. Shiro, smiling and warm, had held out his hand. There was no recognition on his face, just polite hope. Keith was pinned in place, stuck between the onslaught of memories and the pain of not being known.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s hope quickly faded into awkwardness. He bolted, his attempt to reach out ruined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leaned against the wall and watched him jog off. His chest was still tight, confused that Shiro would bother with him. After all, he wasn’t the half-feral boy that Shiro could project onto or pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But of course he did. Shiro was friendly. Not close to people - no one except Adam and Commander Holt, back when. But friendly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith braced his head against the smooth wall and forced out a strained laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better than stealing your car,” he muttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a solid minute before he was able to push himself off the wall and continue on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith should probably talk to Shiro again. Tell him it would be nice to have friends, and apologize for being weird. But he had no idea how to do that. Even his strange extra memories didn’t have a good track record of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, well, Shiro was alive. He was doing okay. He’d make friends, probably fall for Adam again, and Keith would just be his weird classmate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even the thought hit Keith like a punch to the solar plexus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Keith made his way to his dorm room. He needed privacy to figure out what to do next, not an open hallway with classmates and officers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that... well, he’d figure it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(A week later, he still hasn’t figured out shit.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time passes, and Keith finds himself no closer to an answer. Some of the other kids start to clump up, forming tentative friend groups. Some of those will last, many won’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith remains firmly on the outside. He’s not the target of teasing (not yet), but he doesn’t exactly put on a welcoming face. Already, there’s glances and frowns. That’ll turn into anger later, he’s sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t join in on those looks. He also doesn’t join in the groups that are forming. Keith wouldn’t have called the man he knew ‘anti-social’, but this boy is. Friendly, smiling, polite, but distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, simulation trials start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They go alphabetically. Keith watches blandly as his classmates have their first flights. Most do poorly - no surprise, as fresh faced cadets. Keith idly watches their hands, wincing when they fly too fast or slow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On his turn, Keith’s heart is pounding. Before, he’d considered holding back. Doing the same as everyone else. Being average.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not in him. It never has been. This is what he was made for. So the moment the simulation starts, he smiles and flies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, there are whispers as Keith starts solidly and rockets past where most of his classmates failed. He continues on, past where the best of them lost control, past where he crashed during his original first time, and beyond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith does finally slip. His talent is good and his memories help, but he’s not as experienced as he is in his head. He tries for a risky turn, one that would be easy in a lion, and clips the wing right off his ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the failure messages flash on the screen, Keith stands up and climbs out of the simulator, expression still bland. The class is silent as he takes his seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iverson finally clears his throat, though his eyes still watch Keith sharply. There might be suspicion there, but probably not. If anything, he just looks confused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s more like it,” he says, projecting confidence that doesn’t quite sound right. “Let’s see if any of you can even do half as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith settles back, ignoring the looks he gets. Some are awed, some burn with jealousy. Neither he cares about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he glances over, he catches Shiro’s eyes for the first time in a week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith might have expected Shiro to be among the glares. He’d been kind to Keith as an officer, but he’s got a vicious competitive streak. This younger version won’t like being shown up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, his eyes are warm. That smile is familiar and... proud?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s stomach twists. His eyes go wide despite himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look fades as Shiro turns away, watching the next cadet fail the simulation. Keith stares at the back of his head, stomach twisting. But Shiro’s polite friendliness reminds him. This isn’t the man he knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other tests pass without Keith’s notice. He doesn’t care, though he blandly claps along when any of them manage to limp on for more than five minutes. Instead, he stays tense, waiting for Shiro’s name to be called.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally does, Keith’s heart pounds. Realistically, Shiro’s probably going to do okay. He’s no one’s star pilot yet, just another fresh cadet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro settles into the seat. His arms are tense as he reaches out. As the simulation starts, his hands shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro crashes almost immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t miss the look of utter disappointment on Iverson’s face. Clearly, he was expecting better - maybe he’d been the one to test Shiro for the Garrison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Iverson looks like he’ll comment. Shiro looks away, expression tight and ears bright red. It’s clear he’s humiliated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iverson, thank fuck, lets it go. He calls the next name, and Shiro scurries toward his chair, head down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith follows, stomach twisting. In all likelihood, this is something different. Like their ages, Keith’s strange knowledge is just wrong on this score. Shiro’s not a star pilot. He could still do amazing things at the Garrison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s wrong. And even on that younger face, Keith knows what fear looks like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hates to see it. He’s always hated it. Shiro should never hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, Keith is painfully awkward. Yes, he fucked up their first meeting, and he has no idea how to fix it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> But he’s going to help Shiro. He has to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This has been a mistake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro accepts his quiz back from Montgomery with a polite smile, not surprised to see the percent score at the top. It had been as easy as remembering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His courses aren’t the problem. A little boring, but fine. But those aren’t nearly as important as his sim scores.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last week, Iverson took him aside and asked how Shiro was adjusting. His eye kept flickering back to Shiro’s arms, unconscious but clear. It’s obvious he thinks Shiro’s trouble is because of his disease, probably brought on by stress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had ducked his head appropriately, hands respectfully in his lap, and told Iverson he was just nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was true, in a way. Shiro is nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is fucking terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d been tested by Iverson, it had felt like a game. It wasn’t the full simulation, but the little portable one with the cushy chair and the big screen. It didn’t shift with his turns or encase him in a ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one at the Garrison does. Inside, he could be flying a Garrison ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could be flying it to Kerberos, to deliver himself and the Holts to a year of torture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had never been a problem in his dream. After his captivity, Shiro has flown all manner of alien and homegrown ships, from a lion to Atlas. But he’s not that man - that man doesn’t exist, not really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s different now, because it’s before. After, he’d felt like flying was a rebellion. Like fighting back. Like being free.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it feels like walking into pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hates that his hands shake. He hates that he freezes with fear. The man in his mind survived the Arena, survived the Galra, survived literal death. The man in his dream faced his monsters and won.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But part of him thinks this is a good thing. If he can’t fly a simulator, he’ll never fly a real ship. He’ll fail out and go home. He’ll be where he should be in three years, by his Grandfather’s side. He’ll fade away with dignity, instead of the bull-headed pride he’d shown in the face of decline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shoves his quiz away as if ashamed. In a way, he is. He knows he can do better, but part of him thinks he shouldn’t. This quiz, his knowledge, is proof of the ways he’s failing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People have said he’s never been good at accepting failure. That’s not true. Shiro gives up when he doesn’t think he can win. Ask the other Adam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Class finishes up, and Shiro keeps his head down as he goes. He’s dead last in the sim scores, which earns him pity and scorn among his peers. They don’t fear him, not like he dreamt they did. But they also avoid him, like his failure will catch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It’s not the first time someone’s acted like he’s contagious.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro just doesn’t meet their eyes as he leaves. He hears voices raise, but it’s not at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s at Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is even better than Shiro’s memories. Maybe his arrogance or the age difference had softened them, but now it’s clear. Keith’s an amazing natural talent. He flies like the simulation is nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t earn him pity. That earns him anger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pauses on the way out. His shoulders tense, because it’s not right. Jealousy is no reason to lash out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what the culture of the Garrison creates - a zero sum game. Everyone’s success is a chance lost. First place is winning, everything else is failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The way many cadets react to that is lashing out at those they can’t defeat. And Keith is so far ahead that catching up feels impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s position in the class is bad, but he doesn’t really care. There’s two opinions he cares about, and this won’t change either. He just can’t stand to listen to Keith be taunted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He’s never been able to.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when Shiro whirls around, chin up, a shoulder knocks into his. Shiro adjusts his weight automatically to keep from being knocked over, and instead he sends Keith stumbling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” Shiro asks, reaching out a hand to help steady Keith. He means more than just the shoulder bump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pauses, eyes wide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww, need some tips, Shirogane?” Someone calls. Shiro looks over, expression bland. He doesn’t remember the cadet’s name, but he doesn’t like his tone - or his face. “It won’t help. It’s obvious you’re hopeless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tenses under Shiro’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It hadn’t occurred to me,” Shiro replies, all faux-politeness. He smiles, subtly fanged. “Sounds like it’s on your mind, though. If you asked nicely, Keith might help you get past level two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cadet’s cheeks flush as his glare deepens. There’s a snicker from one of the desks. Shiro smiles at Adam, who gives a small one back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I think asking Keith for help is a great idea,” Shiro says, loud and firm. “It makes more sense than throwing a tantrum because I’m jealous. Want to give me some tips?” He smiles at Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind them, there’s unhappy murmurs. Shiro hit more than the loudest target with that one, and he’s going to pay for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their own fault for being assholes, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, if you want,” Keith says. He frowns back, still visibly bristled. But when Shiro uses the hand on his shoulder to walk him away, he goes without a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’re further down the hallway, Shiro gets to. “Sorry,” he says. “I probably should have kept my mouth shut. It was just infuriating to listen to them be nasty. You don’t need to give me tips.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need them anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words are so unexpected that Shiro freezes. His brow knots together in confusion. He’s the worst in the class - why would Keith think that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, Shiro distinctly remembers the fits Lance used to throw that Keith didn’t remember their rivalry. Maybe Shiro is the same to Keith now - just another classmate he doesn’t keep track of, and now he’s being polite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought hurts more than expected, as much as the pang of nostalgic longing for a lost friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro forces on a polite smile, but he can tell it comes across more cynical. “I really could. But maybe it’s for the best if you don’t. It’s probably not even worth trying to catch up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Keith stares at him like such a thought has never occurred to him. Shiro flushes and looks away. Obviously it hasn’t. Keith never gave up, no matter the teasing or the pressure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He never gave up on Shiro before, either. But that was a different time. A dream.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(In that dream, Shiro had never given up on his dreams either. But he’s not that man.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro keeps his gaze averted and shrugs. “There are other tracks. I think I just picked the wrong one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you want to fly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Shiro says, the words coming out before he means them to. Because he does. He’s dreamed of being a pilot since he was old enough to understand the profession. He’d thrown himself into biographies and studies to qualify.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t forget where the Garrison leads. He reaches out, tries to make a difference, and damns himself and the Holts in the process. Even if it seems far fetched, he can’t help the squirm of fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s complicated,” Shiro adds. There’s no explaining his weird knowledge, and he wouldn’t want to if he could. How does he tell this stranger he knew him in a dream? Loved him, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s lips purse and he crosses his arms. Something thoughtful and complicated passes behind his eyes, like he’s calculating if he should let Shiro give up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why not? One less person to worry about. What does he care about some kid who’s washing out of his class?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pain spreads through Shiro’s chest, like his stomach was punctured and is leaking out of him. But he keeps his expression neutral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Keith says. He turns and charges down the hall, shoulders set and chin held high in determination. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks after him, then follows at a jog to catch up. “Why? Where are we going?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simulation room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brows up, Shiro continues to follow. At this time in the afternoon the simulation room won’t be locked, what with classes coming and going. It might be empty this close to dinner, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with all that true, the actual machine will be turned off. Turning it on is something of a process, one a cadet definitely shouldn’t know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith passes into the room like it’s second nature and immediately makes a beeline for the right panel. In moments, the simulator begins humming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mouth falls open. He stares at the back of Keith’s head. How does he know how to turn it on? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hope, small and tentative, flickers to life. Shiro knows how he learned. Is it possible Keith knows the same way?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith turns, he startles at Shiro’s stare. He blushes and looks down at his feet, giving a surly shrug. “They turn it on at the same time for morning classes. One of the officers leaves the door open all the time. I didn’t think it was a big deal if I knew.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. It’s true it’s not exactly a secret. So long as the simulator never gets damaged, the Garrison is content to let the motivated practice after hours. Shiro had always felt like he was getting away with something, until he found out from Iverson that every year figured it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Smart of you,” Shiro says, firmly squashing the traitorous hope. He’s been in the Garrison for less than a month, but he already knows no one else remembers him. Hope only leads to pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs, though a sly smile curls at his lips. “I could show you too. Then you can practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that.” Shiro steps forward and lets Keith walk him through the familiar procedure, nodding along. It’s nice to have an excuse for his knowledge, just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he’s done explaining, Keith climbs into the simulator, then turns and gestures Shiro up. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, clearly Keith wants to walk him through the process. Foreknowledge hasn’t helped Shiro so far, but he’s willing to go along with this. If nothing else, it’s nice to spend time with someone who could have been his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro obediently climbs into the chair. As he settles in, the familiar anxiety jolts through his muscles. If anything, having someone just behind him makes it worse. It’s like Matt or Sam, watching the view screen as they fly in easy silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro crashes as badly as he did on the first day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the failure message plays, Shiro turns to Keith and gives a bland smile. This is the part where Keith gives up on him, like Iverson is starting to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again,” Keith says, nodding to the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why? Shiro’s stomach flips, torn between pleasure that Keith still wants to help and annoyance he has to keep showcasing his absolute failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Shiro resets the simulation, a habitual move he shouldn’t have, but that Keith doesn’t spot. “How many times are we going to do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As many times as it takes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks, and doesn’t see the screen. He sees Keith, older, firm, openly relieved. He sees the man who dragged him out of a Galra ship when he’d nearly starved. He feels his own frustration (just let him go) mixed with gratitude (never let him go).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes, Shiro takes a deep breath. Affection wells for him, for that man and for the stubborn boy next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” He asks, and manages to keep the shake out of his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pauses. Then he gives a quiet, awkward cough. “I mean... friends, you said. That first day. Right? Friends help each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The warmth in him swells. Shiro slams his eyes shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to turn and hug Keith, pull him close the same way he dreams they did. He loves the memory of his best friend, and he loves this gentle, scruffy version too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” Keith says, talking quickly as if to hide the kind thing he just said. “You don’t need tips. I can tell you know what to do. You’re just scared. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes snap open. He finally turns to look at Keith, who meets his gaze steadily. His head is cocked to the side like a curious puppy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has never really wanted to tell anyone about his dreams. There’s no good way it ends. Either he’s crazy, or he’s a weirdo with a second life. He already feels different from his peers: older, in strange ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wants to be friends and help him. That’ll end if Shiro starts babbling about a weird future together. He’d run, because of course he would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro has two secrets. And one of them he’s already told Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he holds out his right arm and tugs back the sleeve. The top of the metallic cuff just barely shows. “I have...” he bites off the familiar, complicated medical name. “It’s a muscle disease. I was born with it. I get twitches and pain, sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprise blooms across Keith’s face, but it clears quicker than on most people. Instead, he frowns and reaches out, like he might touch the cuffs. At the last second he pauses, and Shiro is thankful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s making you crash?” Keith says, frowning. “If it’s that bad...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to. Shiro gives a bland smile. “They wouldn’t let me in, right? No, it didn’t happen during those tests. But those were like video games. This is more real. And I think about crashing a real ship, with real people in it, because of this...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the correct answer, but it’s a real one. A fear Shiro carries even beyond the strange dream. That can be wrong. The threat of killing someone he’s in charge of helping is very possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t,” Keith says, with the complete confidence of a teenager. When Shiro doesn’t move, Keith puts a hand on his shoulder. “You won’t, really. If that was likely, you wouldn’t be here. You’re nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro opens his mouth to argue, but Keith’s eyes shine with sincerity. He believes it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why wouldn’t he? His limited knowledge of Shiro is asking to be friends and standing up to bullies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worse, Shiro can’t contradict him, because all the arguments he’d make are from a version of himself that doesn’t exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So maybe Shiro really is nice. Maybe he isn’t the man in his dreams, but Shiro can still be proud of himself at this age, trying his best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here, try this.” Keith unbuttons his jacket (Shiro blushes, because a boy is undressing in front of him.) Then he takes it and drapes the whole thing over Shiro’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only able to see the deeply shadowed (and still hideous) orange of the cadet uniform, Shiro tilts his head. “How’s this supposed to help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re crashing so quick anyway, it can’t hurt,” Keith says. His voice is flat, and could easily be hurtful. But Shiro knows him well enough to hear the playfulness behind it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro laughs and shakes his head. “You’re not wrong.” He turns around and ‘faces’ the simulation again. “But really, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You said seeing this version is what’s scaring you, right? Now you can’t see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, but Shiro also can’t see the controls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it’s so silly that Shiro can’t help grinning. Sitting here with a kinda-friend, a jacket over his face, trying to fly the cadet simulation - it’s absurd. Absurd enough that Shiro doesn’t think about the dream, or future pain, or disappointing everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he kicks the simulation into gear and flies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro expects to crash just as quickly as before. But muscle memory he never earned kicks in. This early simulation has a simple route to teach the basics take-off and flying. Loud warning sirens go off if Shiro ever goes too far off course.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He manages to get farther than he has in the past month while wearing Keith’s jacket over his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not nearly as far as Keith, not without his eyes. But it’s about as far as second place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally crashes, Shiro tugs the uniform off his face and grins at Keith, who absolutely beams in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Told you,” Keith said, his confidence in Shiro absolute. “Now this time, do it normally. Simulations are getting boring. Maybe you can keep up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith says it so casually, so flippantly. It’d be a backhanded insult if it wasn’t for the fire in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s normal competitive streak comes roaring back into him, sudden and powerful as meeting Black for the first time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep up?” Shiro says, just as calmly. “I did that with my eyes covered. Next time, I’m going to kick your ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith gives him a grin, wide and fanged. “Let’s see about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time. First...” Shiro throws the jacket back into his face, so it covers Keith’s head. “Your turn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith jolts, clearly startled. But then he laughs, bright and easy. Shiro’s pretty sure he’s never heard Keith sound so carefree at this age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They trade off as long as they dare before they have to get to dinner. Keith keeps winning, because he has an additional month of true practice under his belt. But Shiro’s catching up fast. And with the two of them laughing and poking fun, Shiro can finally forget his weird knowledge and just enjoy flying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s good to be back.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith isn’t surprised when some of the other cadets grow to hate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is surprised by how much having a friend his age helps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time, Shiro’s office was his retreat from the hateful glares and dark comments. But most of the time, he couldn’t be there and listen to Shiro’s advice. During class, or simulations, or just in his dorm, he was alone against the vitriol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he’s not. Now, when someone makes a smart comment about his parents, Shiro’s hand wraps firmly around his wrist. Now, when the glares and sneers get difficult to see, he can look to Shiro’s smile instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair of them are inseparable - both in their lives and their scores. Now that Shiro has worked past his fear, he improves in leaps and bounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith used to have the top spot without blinking. He was prepared to coast through his simulation lessons. Now, they’re the most difficult part of his curriculum, not because of actual scores but because of competing with Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dream, Shiro had been a barely obtainable goal. A shining example to strive for (or, in the case of his behavior, to fall far short of).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, though, Shiro is a rival: not the kind like Lance declared himself, but something Keith finds himself enjoying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They jockey for top spot, often determined by the type of ‘mission’. Long term, thoughtful choices to go Shiro, while fast paced sprints are Keith’s preference.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tease, but it’s never mean-spirited, not like the murmurs from other students. Shiro calls him out when Keith falls short of some invisible potential, just like always. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this time around, Keith flicks Shiro’s ear when he gets too caught up in perfection. He flings the awful commissary peas across the table, and gets Shiro’s carrots catapulted in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Both of them get scolded for that, and neither of them can hold back their laughter after.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Shiro isn’t anyone’s Golden Boy: He’s just as good at classes as simulations, but he never manages the shining reputation he had in Keith’s admittedly biased memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith isn’t the problem child, at least not to the same degree. They get in trouble from sneaking out or staying up late, but there’s no threats of expulsion. Dark looks and murmurings at times, but Keith is no longer dancing on a knife’s edge, held up by Shiro’s kind regard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, it’s also not him and Shiro against the world. Shiro is private and reserved, still, but he’s also friendly and helpful. He draws other people to their little group, if not to the same degree that Keith is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before, anyone who wasn’t an active antagonist was still just another face in the crowd. Keith had hovered on the edges, a naked blade prepared to cut anyone who got too close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Keith finds himself with several others around, for study, practice, or just to spend time together. He doesn’t have Shiro’s charisma, and he expects it to be a painful process of sharing. But it’s fine. Stilted at times, but fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam is among that group.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith never knew Adam that well in his dream. He was already an instructor, but to the higher level classes. He was Shiro’s other major time commitment, outside of work. When the two of them were together, it was to be a couple. Keith had made himself scarce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a surprise to find Shiro’s disapproving boyfriend, eventual source of serious heartbreak, is actually fun. He doesn't match Keith’s rebelliousness, but he has a sharp tongue and a wickedly dark sense of humor. He's also surprisingly good as a pilot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith almost feels bad for how much he underestimated and dismissed the guy, back in the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Almost.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At times, that’s nice. Adam is good to have on their side when some of the bigger asshole cadets make comments. He gives more than he gets, every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At other times, that’s infuriating. Because Keith understands what Shiro saw in him. Will see in him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of them take up a table in the library. Keith has his communications textbook out (easily his worst subject). But he’s not paying attention at all, because Adam and Shiro are sitting shoulder to shoulder, going over calculus problems in low tones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being jealous of Shiro is nothing new. Keith’s always been a little possessive of him, in the dream and since meeting him for real. Shiro’s his first real, true friend. The idea that he’d rather spend time with another cadet than Keith is infuriating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s made worse by the idea that Shiro might want to kiss Adam. Somehow, the idea that Shiro would skip out on their time to go make-out with his boyfriend makes Keith scowl, even when it’s just imaginary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s probably where it’s heading, too. Adam’s eyes flicker over to Shiro’s face, up to his eyes then down to his lips. A second later, he turns away, cheeks red. His crush is obvious, even to Keith’s awkward social skills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only comfort is that Shiro seems entirely oblivious. But how long can that last? At some point he has to figure it out. They were living together in the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There, you see,” Shiro says, his smile warm and encouraging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s stomach burns, but he doesn’t look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Adam mutters, his nose crinkled. “I guess. Doesn’t make it fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s calculus. I don’t think it’s supposed to be fun,” Shiro says, shrugging, as if Keith hasn’t watched him calculate vectors just because.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam smiles back, eyes bright behind his terrible glasses. “I think that’s enough of it for today. I have a movie I want to watch tonight, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing, Adam hesitates. He looks between Keith and Shiro, like he wants to add something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Shiro says, still cheery. “Keith and I still need to grab dinner. See you tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Adam says, and his shoulders sink just a bit. “See you.” He grabs his bag and textbook and makes for the door, head down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches him go. He knows his stare is intense, but he can’t help it. Adam had been about to ask Shiro to join him, he’s almost sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that how it started last time? Was that the beginning of a romance that would have lasted years, only broken by a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is Keith in the way of something that’ll make Shiro happy?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach churns as he packs up his own bag. There’s no pretending it’s hunger, even if he hasn’t eaten in hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steeling himself, Keith takes a deep breath, then meets Shiro’s gaze. “He likes you, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro freezes, eyes wide. Then he looks down, his ears bright red. “Yeah, I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Keith blinks, shocked. This whole time, Shiro had seemed to miss every little sign. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s pretty nice,” Keith adds, because... well, because they had been good together, once. Now that he knows Adam better, he can see why. They have that same infuriatingly morbid sense of humor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s lips quirk up. “No, he’s not,” he says, but his voice is fond. And yeah, it’s true. Adam’s good qualities are how sharp he is. Nice isn’t the right word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if that’s the end of the conversation, Shiro sips his bag onto his back and heads for the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith scrambles after him, trying not to scowl. He’s trying to help Shiro! This is hard enough. Does he have to be difficult about it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro glances to the side, his brows up. “Shouldn’t you pass me a note? So I can check yes, no, or maybe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Keith rolls his eyes. Can’t Shiro just give a fucking straight answer once in a while? Even at this age, his poker face is too fucking good. “C’mon. Do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s cute,” Shiro finally says, shrugging his shoulder. “But honestly? No. I think I could, but...” His nose crinkles. It’s supposed to be thoughtful, probably, but it’s really just a pout. “It feels like it’d be... I dunno, a fling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brows rise. He wouldn’t call half a decade of a relationship a fling, but he can’t exactly say that. “You have a lot of flings to base that on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Finally, Shiro’s composure breaks. His cheeks go bright red and his pout deepens. “I just don’t really want to date around. That’s all. We’re not here to kiss, we’re here to learn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, Keith should argue for Adam’s benefit. But he can’t be bothered. It’s not like he wants them to get together and leave him behind for hormonal pawing. And if Shiro doesn’t want to, Keith’s not going to argue it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like he’s wrong, anyway. They don’t make it. And considering the context of that ending, Keith’s perfectly happy to let it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question is so unexpected that Keith nearly trips. “What about what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think Adam’s cute?” Shiro watches him, head cocked to the side. He seems perfectly sincere in his question. “If you want to ask him out, you don’t need to hesitate for me or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Keith winces, because the strength of his dismissal just makes him look suspicious. The question is just so wild. Does he want to date the guy Shiro was with for years, only to break up over Kerberos? No way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s lips quirk up. It’s clear he’s teasing, probably because Keith’s reaction is so strong. But that doesn’t make it easier to take. “Someone else, then? Who do you think is pretty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought isn’t new. The first time they’d met, Keith had a crush that was half hero-worship, half hormones. Years later, it was a constant, low-level hum he learned to live with. A wistful daydream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s long since come to terms with those feelings. But now, faced with this new version, his heart pounds anew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really notice people like that,” Keith says, which is true. His crushes have been extremely few and far between. Most of them have been on the same man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods thoughtfully. “Oh,” he says, processing. Then he smiles. “Makes sense. You spend all your energy drooling over the latest speeder model.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith jams their shoulders together, rolling his eyes. “Oh, please. Like you’re any better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was hot,” Shiro says, as even and casual as if he was discussing another math problem. Then he cracks, bursting into laughter, which Keith helplessly joins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someday, Shiro will probably change his mind. If not on Adam, someone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for now, Keith gets this time together. Their friendship is different from before. But good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t trade it for anything. Even robot lions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The months fly by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tries to keep track of it in days (simulation runs and arm stretches), then in weeks (calls to his grandfather), and finally in the space between exams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most days, his strange phantom life fades to the background. It’s sometimes helpful, but just as often it’s distracting. Keeping track of what he should know and what he does becomes impossible the more they tangle together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Shiro doesn’t think about it, except in the abstract. That helps the fear, too, and keeps him from talking himself into anxious crashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, the people around him stop being reflections of a dream and become themselves. Keith isn’t the cadet he mentored, who eventually became his closest friend. He doesn’t forget, but he focuses on the now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The now where they circle each other uncertainly on the gym mat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Garrison requires physical fitness, but usually not fighting. They run laps and do sit-ups - whatever will build the muscle needed to function in reduced gravity while wearing bulky suits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knows from sparse conversations that Keith already knows how to fight. For his part, Shiro had taken lessons as part of keeping his limbs exercised, but he’s never really tussled with anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could be a valuable skill someday. Shiro manages not to think about it. Instead, he watches Keith warily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across from him, Keith looks no more comfortable. This kind of coordinated battle isn’t what he knows. His fights have been impromptu and dirty. Here, they wear padding and have rules.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(That won’t last. Neither of them care much about rules. But for their first sparring session it makes sense.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro waits. He knows Keith can’t stand stillness for long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s proven right when Keith darts forward. The move is unpracticed and Shiro can track his movement easily. But that does nothing to make his body move fast enough to react.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His arms flail up, trying to cross in front of Keith’s first punch. He’s a touch too slow, and Keith’s palm connects solidly with his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stumbles back a step and kicks out. Keith leans back and away, which would have been impressively lithe if it worked. Instead, Shiro’s heel catches his stomach and shoves him away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, they separate, eyeing each other across the mat. Shiro’s mind calculates, trying to figure out an advantage. He’s taller than Keith, and there’s a wall behind his friend. Maybe he can force him against it and overwhelm him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can even begin to follow that logic, Keith dives forward. This time, he aims lower, going for Shiro’s legs - smart, given his shorter arm span.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro, in a flash of brilliance, thinks ‘He’s too low. I can jump that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he leaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His knees crash into Keith’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The momentum of Keith’s tackle drags them both down. Keith lands first, and takes it without issue since he was prepared. But he wasn’t ready for Shiro’s greater bulk to land right on top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lets out an uncomfortable wheeze, both from landing on Keith’s bony back and from being awkwardly twisted by Keith’s grip on his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s on top, and that’s an advantage here. Shiro drives his elbow into Keith’s back, careful not to hit anywhere that would really hurt him. At least, he thinks so. It’s harder to tell than he thought from his dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith lets out a yowl, trying to shove himself up and yank Shiro off at the same time. He doesn’t manage to move Shiro’s bulk, but he does flip onto his back instead. He starts trying to throw punches, but quickly gives into simply trying to dig his nails into Shiro’s sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, it quickly devolves. Shiro loses track of who hits where. Half the time he’s trying to grab Keith by the wrists, half the time he’s trying to use his knees to get away. Eventually he gives up on defense and just tries to squish Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For such a little guy, Keith is damn near impossible to hold down. He’s squirmy and knows the worst places to prod or pinch. Eventually he manages to roll them, only for Shiro to use the momentum to flip them again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes only a few minutes of that for them to run out of breath. Shiro gives up first, aching in ways he’s not used to. He flops onto his side. “Break,” he forces out, between gulps of air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith eyes him warily, as if Shiro is going to strike the moment he puts his guard down (which is fair: Shiro’s considering it). But eventually he flops back onto his back, breathing just as hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, all they can do is lay there, heaps on the floor. Then, Keith lets out a wheezing noise. It takes Shiro a moment to realize it’s a laugh. “We suck at this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do. It’s horrifying, because Shiro has so many memories of them fighting. They’d both been smooth, powerful and deadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems that skill didn’t come from knowledge, but from practice. Or maybe being full grown. Because, they really, really suck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lets out a helpless chuckle as well, which sounds horribly like a giggle to his own ears. “We’ll get better,” he insists, when he can manage words. “We’ll keep practicing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s chuckles die off. He turns his head to face Shiro. His hair is only barely longer than regulation (which still gets him comments), but it manages to fall into his face and eyes. The dark strands flow like ink, matching the dark fan of his eyelashes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pretty. That’s nothing new. Shiro’s reminded constantly, usually at inconvenient times. It makes him think of the man who had come home, suddenly years older. A devastating moment of re-evaluation, until all Shiro could do was stutter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A realization that came to nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(You’re like a brother to me.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you be able to practice at home?” Keith asks. A little furrow appears between his brows as he thinks. “It’s only a couple of weeks of the semester left. There’s no use keeping this up if we’re going to go months without working at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods slowly. “I think so. Grandfather will like it if I pick up lessons again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good,” Keith says, nodding. His cheek smushes into the mat and his eyes are distant, lost in thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably trying to think what he’ll do to practice. There’s no gentle lessons for Keith. They haven’t talked much about home, but Shiro can read between the lines even without his knowledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flipping onto his stomach, Shiro pushes himself up, resting on his elbows like a seal. “Besides, maybe we can keep up sparring. You could come visit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open. He’s utterly stunned at the idea of seeing Shiro over the summer, as if the concept is completely foreign.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be fair, Shiro’s never gone to visit anyone over the summer either. But he’s at least aware of the concept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, he might be able to do more than ‘visiting’, but for that he needs to talk to his Grandfather. It’s not something he wants to offer carelessly and take away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” Keith says, tentatively like he’s not quite ready to believe, yet. “Wouldn’t that be hard? You don’t live near Platu City.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s only a couple hours by car,” Shiro says, shrugging. “We could pick you up and take you back. It’d be a waste to only come for a day, but if you stay for a week that’s definitely worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith continues to stare, but hope brightens his eyes. “Isn’t that a long way for your Grandfather to drive?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s doing it to pick me up,” Shiro points out, shrugging. “And I can test for my license, and then I can get you. It’ll be a road trip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, a reluctant little smile curls at Keith’s lips. “Yeah,” he says. The agreement is flip and casual, like he’s not committed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s fine. Keith can be uncommitted until Shiro gets things rolling. He’ll prove it’ll work before Keith gets excited. That’s only fair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be fun,” Shiro says, putting all the conviction he can into his voice. “I’ll show you around my town. There’s a burger place you’ll love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t say anything, just nods. Then he sits up and shakes his head, making his shaggy hair fly everywhere. It stays up, stuck from drying sweat. “Ready to try again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Shiro hops to his feet and stands in a ready stance. This time, he’s determined to do better than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes flash, clearly thinking along the same lines. He holds both hands up and circles Shiro, copying his patient stance from last time. Clearly, he expects to outwait Shiro this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if that’s his plan, who is Shiro to deny him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a cry, he charges forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has never been in a house like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s always known his childhood was unusual. By the time he was in school, he understood that most kids had guardians who looked after them and expected certain behaviors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little things surprise Keith. They have meals prepared at set time, which is strange outside of school. They have to account for their whereabouts all the time - running off without explanation means a scolding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, Shiro and Keith came back covered in dirt and road rash after a tumble from a borrowed speeder. They were patched up and fussed over before the first of many questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t seem to matter that Keith isn’t Mr. Shirogane’s grandson. He’s never treated as a burden or a tag-a-long, despite staying for so long. First it was a week, then two, and now he’s staying for the entire month until the Garrison resumes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith knows this shouldn’t be so strange. It’s normal, at least for Shiro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as he sits at the kitchen table, his breakfast half finished as he watches Shiro and his grandfather argue in quiet, sharp Japanese, Keith is still stunned. Stunned and worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any argument with a guardian makes him tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to go,” Keith offers. The words come out stilted and awkward, because he balks at letting some authority figure tell him what he can and can’t do. But it’s better than making these two fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both Shiro and his grandfather pause. Neither blush - both are more dignified than that - but their embarrassment is clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “The picnic is fine. We just have to decide what to bring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was simply offering to drive you out,” Mr. Shirogane says. His tone is gentle and his smile is easy. But there’s a stubborn, stiff posture to his shoulders. One that Keith recognizes from his grandson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s expression darkens. “I was telling him that the offer is kind, but not necessary. I can drive us, just like I have been.” His tone gets very slightly darker and pointed, and his fingers clench around the edge of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even during the summer and in his own home, Shiro wears long sleeves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not difficult to figure out what’s causing this fight. A few days ago, Mr. Shirogane took Shiro to a doctor’s visit. Keith had waited back at the house, puttering around awkwardly in a space that wasn’t his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since they’d gotten back, they’d both been tense. Shiro is quicker to bristle, and Mr. Shirogane is watching him closely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can drive,” Keith says. Shiro’s sharp, unhappy look turns to him, but at least he doesn’t object this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Shirogane’s brows raise. “I was under the impression you did not yet have your license.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith flushes, because it’s true. He could get one, but he has to take the two week long classes, and he hasn’t bothered. Once he hits his next birthday, he can just take the regular test. After flying pilot simulations, it’ll be easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no trouble,” Mr. Shirogane says, smiling politely again. “I’ll drop you off and pick you up in a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whirling on him, Shiro snaps something in loud Japanese. Either the volume or the contents are enough to make Mr. Shirogane stiffen and lean back, obviously shocked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes a deep breath. It shakes, on the edge of frustration. Then he whirls away and stamps his way out of the kitchen. A moment later, a door slams shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is left alone with Mr. Shirogane. His chest is tight, both from the discomfort of witnessing a personal family argument and worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Shirogane sighs. He deflates in place, eyes closed and suddenly looking even older. He says nothing, and the silence stretches out painfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I help?” Keith finally asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Shirogane gave him a small, pained smile. He stands, clearing the remains of his own and Shiro’s breakfast, then offers to take Keith’s plate as well. “That’s a kind offer. But no, this is something that needs to be borne.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it about Shiro’s disease?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mr. Shirogane startles, nearly dropping the plates in the sink. It’s the single most uncontrolled move Keith has seen him make so far. “He told you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The disbelief stings, but Keith understands why. Shiro is deeply private about his cuffs, refusing to allow anyone to see them. He’s still shocked he offered them up so quickly in their friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says, then winces. “Yes, Sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snorting, Mr. Shirogane shakes his head and continues to rinse off the plates. “Yes, it’s related. However, I think it’s up to Takashi to say more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s fair. Shiro would hate it if they talked about this behind his back. Keith nods in agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro and his grandfather have the best home Keith has ever known. But it’s still not perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wants to tell this man how much his grandson loves him. He’s seen the way Shiro frets over missed weekly calls, or all the stories he shares. He wants to tell him that this home is the first Keith has wanted to stay at since his dad died.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t, because it isn’t his place to say so. He wouldn’t have the words if he tried. Instead, Keith stands up. “I’ll see if he wants to talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s the right thing to say, because Mr. Shirogane’s face warms. “A good plan. If he’s not ready, you’re welcome to come with me to pick up groceries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods slowly. Being alone with his friend’s guardian is a little weird still, but better than awkwardly wandering the house himself again. “Okay, thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Keith ducks into the hallway and knocks on the door to Shiros’ room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long pause before Shiro opens the door. He stands in the crack, expression unwelcoming, but he relaxes when he sees it’s Keith. Then he steps back and lets him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floor is the same mess of pillows and blankets it’s been while Keith is here. Half the time, Shiro joins him rather than sleep in his own bed. It’s unnecessary, but Keith won’t complain about the nights they’ve spent talking in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, they’re both too old to act like kids at a sleepover. But Keith has never had those before, and he suspects Shiro hasn’t either. So maybe it’s to be expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence hangs between them. Shiro sits on his bed, tense and waiting like Keith is circling him in their spars. His eyes look darker as they track Keith’s every movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s waiting for the question. For the shoe to drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith’s not really a talker anyway. He’s a doer. So he makes a snap decision and puts on his shoes. Shiro watches, still tense as a cornered animal. “Well, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go where?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The park. We can get something to eat on the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s head snaps up as he frowns. His fingers dig into his pajama pants. He’s not dressed for a picnic and a day out. Neither is Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t really give a fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still want to go? After...” Shiro glances at the door. His expression doesn’t change, but his eyes darken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever reservations Mr. Shirogane has are probably reasonable and responsible. He cares for his grandson and wants him to be safe. It’s his job to set limits and rules.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith’s job is getting rid of that dark tension keeping Shiro strung tight. If that means going behind Mr. Shirogane’s back, he doesn’t care. He likes the man, and he’s thankful to be allowed to stay here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro comes first. Always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once his shoes are on, Keith holds out a hand to Shiro. “Come on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile finally grows over Shiro’s face. His eyes brighten with mischief. “Grandfather will take the car out,” he says. “He won’t need the speeder.” With that, he takes Keith’s hand and stands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But rather than let go, he pulls Keith in closer. Keith stumbles, crashing into Shiro’s chest with absolutely no grace. His nose comes up to Shiro’s shoulder, and he knows the size difference will only grow worse before it gets better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wraps his other arm around Keith and buries his face in his hair. “Thank you,” he says. He doesn’t explain, but Keith knows it’s not just for the escape. It’s for not asking. It’s for trusting him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if Keith needs to be thanked for that. As if he’s capable of anything different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Keith gets his shit together and returns the embrace. Their interlinked hands, trapped between their chests, is comfortingly familiar. He closes his eyes and enjoys the warm press of Shiro against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every time,” Keith says, and to him it’s a promise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, they make their subtle way out of the house. They look ridiculous in their pajamas, and it’s probably the least dignified Shiro has publicly looked in years. But they trade mischievous grins as Shiro snatches the speeder key off the hook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They pile onto the bike with half-guilty glee, and it’s not until the garage door opens that they hear Mr. Shirogane call for them from the kitchen. Keith plasters himself to Shiro’s back, openly grinning, as Shiro revs the engine and guns it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re turning down the road before Mr. Shirogane can even open the door to watch them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their speed can only be called reckless. Keith laughs his giddy joy into Shiro’s ear. This whole thing is stupid, but it’s also fun, so he doesn’t give a damn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they get to the park, they haven’t picked up anything they meant to - Shiro left his wallet in his room, and Keith doesn’t have much spending money on him. But the point was never the picnic. It was just enjoying the summer sun together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s early enough that it’s not too hot and the park is quiet. Joggers go by and don’t even blink at the two pajama-clad teenagers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They find a tree to settle under that has a good view of the pond. Across the water, a dog jumps into the water after ducks, who scatter quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes a deep breath against a sudden ache. Kosmo was one of the stranger elements of his dream, but one he misses the most. It’s distant, like missing a favorite character from a story. But he can’t shake it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro watches the dog as well, a fond smile crossing his face. Maybe he had a dog when he was young. Keith has no idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s funny that even with two sets of memories, Shiro can still make him wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart catches. He stares at Shiro, who idly rubs his wrists over the cuffs. “Are you hurting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes flicker to him, then back to the owner trying to get their dog out of the pond. “Not more than usual.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How much is that? Keith still doesn’t know. But he doesn’t ask, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t give him the opportunity anyway. “They’re going to adjust the cuffs and I have to learn new stretches. Hopefully that’ll keep it under control. But until then...” He holds up his hands. After a moment, the fingers twitch on their own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why your grandfather didn’t want you to drive.” It’s not a question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sighs. “I know he means well. And I know it’s just for a week or two, until it’s under control. The doctor didn’t say I shouldn’t drive, but...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wouldn’t crash.” Keith says. When Shiro arches his brows, he smiles. “I already told you. You wouldn’t risk anyone, not if there was a real chance of hurting them. I trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes slam shut. He leans his head back against the tree as his fingers dig into the dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks away, leaving him to process that in relative privacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so,” Shiro says. His voice is tight. “I really hope so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t,” Keith says, absolutely certain. He hesitates, then leans to the side until their shoulders nudge. Shiro leans into the touch immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like that, quiet and holding each other up. The wind jostles the trees and bushes. Ripples appear on the water, interrupting the otherwise clear reflection of the clouds above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bites his bottom lip, hesitating. But one question bubbles out of him. “You’re going back to the Garrison, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro flinches. “No one’s said otherwise.” He raises a hand and rubs under his eyes. There are no tears. “That’s what I asked, though. Before I left. If he wasn’t going to let me drive, that he might as well keep me home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, Keith hopes not. He doesn’t want to go to the Garrison without Shiro. He knows how bad it could be, and he never wants to live that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More importantly, he doesn’t want Shiro to give up on his dream. He’s an amazing pilot. Perfect for the program in ways that Keith’s pure drive aren’t. If anyone desires their spot, it’s him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He won’t,” Keith says, and hopes his confidence isn’t a lie. “The Garrison makes you happy. And he loves you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cracks a smile, eyes up on the sky. Weirdly, it’s that last line that makes his eyes redden. He still doesn’t cry, but the hint of it is there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He might be right if he did,” Shiro says. It’s the same thing he murmured to Keith when they snuck into the simulator together. It doesn’t hurt less to hear now. “It just... I wish if it’s going to get taken away, I wouldn’t get so close first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has nothing to say to that. He wishes he did, but everything he can think of seems trite. So instead he just leans his head on Shiro’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay like that, watching others pass them by. They never grab lunch, and instead walk the path around the pond. Sometimes they talk, but usually they just enjoy the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than once, Keith thinks about taking Shiro’s hand. But the mood is tenuous and he doesn’t want to break it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith knows where this leads. This is a friendship he’ll cross a universe to defend. One he’d die to stay with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where they are isn’t a downgrade. It’s not a consolation prize. It’s perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few wistful moments are a small price to pay for this man, who makes Keith’s life a little better every day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually they do go back home. Keith offers to take the blame, but Shiro shoos him back to his room. Instead, he waits there, looking at the lighter spots on the ceiling where there used to be stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Occasionally he hears voices, again in Japanese. Keith doubts it’s for privacy, but instead just how they communicate when things get difficult. If anything, he’s glad for it. It means he can’t eavesdrop, even on accident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Shiro comes back in. His shoulders slump like he’s exhausted, but his eyes are clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m still going to the Garrison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not Keith’s only question. It might not even be the most important one. But the words still fill him with giddy relief. He smiles and Shiro beams back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s enough. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hey all, as a note, I'll be changing the update schedule to every three days. I'm very close to being totally finished with this fic (I'd put myself at 90% done), and so there's really no reason to drag this out till (US) Thanksgiving.</p><p>Let's drag it out till Halloween instead ;)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Second year hits like a truck. Classes pick up so much that even with his extra knowledge, Shiro has to work hard for his grades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the year that also brings the different Garrison tracks together. It’s no longer pilot vs pilot, but team vs team. Shiro and Keith’s rivalry takes a back seat to figuring out how to work with a proper crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The integration brings in new faces - and familiar ones too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically, it brings in Matt Holt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dream, the two of them were never close until the Kerberos mission. Just two students in the same year. Occasionally they’d worked together, but nothing more complex. Shiro had been too busy projecting an air of perfection to make friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time around, Shiro tries not to make the same mistakes. Besides, the more people he’s friendly with, the more friends Keith has too, and that’s only a good thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt Holt is good people, anyway. Oddly brash and not nearly as funny as he thinks, but good people. He and Keith got along in the coalition together, so they should work in the Garrison as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, that’s the idea in theory. It doesn’t work so well when they’re on the same test crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t bother to hide his amused grin as he watches the simulation. Keith swerves through the course with his usual reckless grace. His speed and control are impeccable, but the sharp turns are less than comfortable for his companions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His engineer, O’Hare, clings to the engine casing rather than works on repairs. Every time she tries to loosen her grip, Keith whips around another corner and makes her scowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In contrast, Matt lazes back in his chair. He takes the jerky movements with the passive ease of a ragdoll, his comms mic held in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has also apparently decided to only talk in questions, like this is an improv game.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How far to the landing site?” Keith asks. His jaw is set, because he already anticipates the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you convert 20 clicks into miles?” Matt asks cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>O’Hare groans and presses her forehead to the casing. “Please just answer Kogane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Narrowing her eyes, O’Hare points her wrench threateningly at the back of Matt’s head. Another sudden jolt yanks it from her grip, sending it skittering away on the floor. Groaning, she unbuckles herself and dives after it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mic in Matt’s hand crackles. “Do you read me? Over,” the familiar recorded message calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you think we couldn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The recording doesn’t react to Matt’s smarm - probably why he feels comfortable joking around. Instead, it warns of a meteor shower around them and to prepare evasive maneuvers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt claps a hand to his cheek in fake surprise. “How didn’t you predict this before now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith mutters something that sounds suspiciously like ‘shut up’, but it’s too quiet to pick up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he focuses on swerving out of the way of burning hunks of rock that crash around them. “The engine’s getting hot!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying!” O’Hare snaps back. She finally catches her wrench, only to be sent tumbling by another sharp turn. “It’d be easier if you’d fly like a sane person!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d rather crash?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt laughs. “Oh, you’re playing too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A warning flashes on screen just seconds before (fog-machine generated) smoke begins to belch from the engine. O’Hare yelps and dives for it, but it’s already far too late. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith yanks the controls, but it’s clear they’re failing. The view lists downward, then lurches sickeningly toward the ground until going blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, Shiro claps a hand over his mouth to hide his snickers. It’s not that he enjoys Keith’s failure, exactly, but it’s never been this entertaining, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Iverson sends him a beady-eyed look, and sweeps it over anyone else getting the giggles. Then he turns his glare to the emerging crew to chew them out, each of them getting a special section on their mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end, Keith looks especially surly. It’s clear he thinks he did nothing wrong with his wild ride and that O’Hare should have kept up with him. When he catches Shiro’s eyes, he sends him a playful scowl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro grins and gives a little shrug back. He’s already had his turn. His crew have their own problems. His communications specialist, Weir, is perfectly acceptable, though she treats all exchanges like a conversation instead of orders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His engineer, McKay, is... another story, He keeps up a steady stream of complaints and dire predictions, which makes Shiro want to turn around and personally shut him up. But at least he keeps up the repairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For his side, Shiro doesn’t go nearly as fast or hard as Keith, not while he has passengers. He might have, but he wants to live up to Keith’s belief in him - that he wouldn’t hurt someone he was charged to work with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Even if it’s occasionally tempting.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It means they don’t get through the course as fast, but Iverson has less to complain about. Not getting chewed out counts as a win to Shiro. They’ll get farther each time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’re finally let out, Keith doesn’t wait for Shiro before heading to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro scrambles after, offering a wave to Adam as he goes, and then one to Matt. The former nods distractedly from a conversation with his engineer, while Matt gives an exaggerated grin and wave back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as Shiro catches up to Keith, he lets out a low groan that sounds suspiciously like a growl. “Does no one else take this seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re all going to the Galaxy Garrison, so I assume so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a violent gesture backwards. “Explain Holt, then!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, most of us.” Shiro pats Keith on the shoulder, not bothering to hide his teasing smile. “O’Hare is serious.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, she’s not! Does she think ‘evasive maneuvers’ means ‘float along daintily’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t point out that Keith’s reckless flying started way before the meteor shower. “Well, I appreciate your flying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You appreciate it when my ship blows up and I don’t outshine you.” Keith scowls at him, but it has absolutely no heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you can’t keep your ship working, you can’t beat me,” Shiro agreed cheerfully, and laughs when Keith elbows him. He sees the smile that wants to crack through his scowl. “But, no, seriously. It was good flying. Just not good for other people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Keith shoves his hands in his pockets. He knows damn well he needs to fly in a way his crew can work with. He just doesn’t really operate at any speed but ‘fast’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patting him again, Shiro glances around to make sure no one is around to hear. “Maybe if we do some real flying, it wouldn’t suck so much in the sims.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s head picks up slightly, though he doesn’t lose his pout. “The pilot simulations are fun, but we’ve been through them so many times. I could do it with my eyes covered.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yes, you’ve made sure of that.” Shiro pinches Keith’s uniform and gives it a tug, which finally makes Keith really smile. “But I don’t mean that. The Garrison has plenty of hoverbikes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes go wide, both from shock and growing delight. “There’s no way they’ll let a couple of second year cadets use those,” he says slowly. It’s not a real objection. More like a test.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Shiro knows the answer to this quiz just as well as the ones in class. He shrugs. “So we won’t ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nearly glows from awed delight. It makes Shiro feel bad for not suggesting this earlier. It’s difficult to get hold of the bikes as a cadet instead of an officer, but not impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Keith says, breathless with his enthusiasm. “When? Friday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about tonight?” It’s impulsive and stupid. They have early classes tomorrow. But fuck that. They’ll live through one all-nighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re young, after all. Might as well take advantage while they can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith outright grins, a wild, fanged look. In the warm lighting of the Garrison hallway, the whites of his eyes take on a yellow tint.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Shiro’s heart seizes. He sees that face but older, desperate. A new wound on his face, burned into permanence.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Keith isn’t an alien. He isn’t. The dreams get so much wrong. Their future is not pain and death.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Keith breathes, voice rough in a way that makes Shiro’s heart pound for a completely different reason. “Tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s painfully easy to slip away into the desert with the hoverbikes. Part of Shiro wants to find whoever is supposed to be on security and shake them. Two teenagers were able to get off with restricted equipment!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s not the captain. He’s the teenager, and he prefers it that way. So instead he lets the victory sing through his blood, pushing the old machine as fast as he dares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His daring isn’t as much as Keith’s, who guns it without regard to the hoverbike’s age or level of maintenance. He gets a solid lead before Shiro can match him, aiming to hit the occasional dune or rock just for the joy of airtime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not a race, but Shiro still pushes to catch up. He avoids the temptation of tricks until he’s neck and neck with Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing over, he can see Keith’s hair whipping wildly in the wind, his eyes narrowed in concentration, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart thuds, as if heavier than a moment before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it picks up, because there’s a familiar cliff in front of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro considers going for it. He’s pretty sure he could still make that leap, gunning the engine at the exact right moment to keep from a deadly crash. But he’s not sure, and he has no justification for that skill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he coasts, letting his bike gradually lose speed to turn more easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rockets toward the edge. Shiro’s grip tightens on the handles and he leans forward, prepared to follow after if necessary. He can’t be... he didn’t know how until Shiro showed him. He wouldn’t-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Keith approaches the edge, Shiro watches in mixed horror and awe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t see a desert. He sees Keith, above him, eyes closed. He sees Keith falling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the last possible moment, Keith swerves the hoverbike to the side, hard enough to expose the fans on the underside. The bike’s edge just barely scrapes the dirt, kicking up a cloud of sand that Shiro can’t see through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith!” Shiro cries. He shoots forward, ignoring the sharp spray of sand whipping past. “Keith, are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dust begins to settle, revealing Keith and his hoverbike right on the very edge of the cliff. A few inches of the bike hovers over the drop, and the ridge of sand proves Keith stopped at the very last possible instant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning widely, Keith shrugs. He’s filthy, his face and hair absolutely covered in sand. But it doesn’t dent his enthusiasm at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stops his bike and lets it fall carelessly to the ground, uncaring how the engine sputters. As soon as he’s close enough, he grabs Keith by the shoulders, heart still beating frantically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s smile starts to slip. “Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought-” Shiro takes a deep breath, then lets it out. He’s not even sure why he’s so scared. Keith can do it. He knows he could, even at this age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it doesn’t stop the bolt of fear. It could so easily go wrong, but that’s not the only thing making Shiro want to shake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Keith knows how, Shiro doesn’t know where he learned it this time. And the image of him, plummeting down...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is ridiculous: Shiro figured it out himself, once. Keith has amazing instincts. He’d be able to as well. But it would be dangerous, and Shiro hopes he wouldn’t do it on a whim.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Keith says. His voice gentles, unusually soft. The way he spoke over the summer during Shiro’s fight with his grandfather. “I’m okay. It would have been fine, even if I went over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Shiro says. “You’d do great. I just... I wasn’t sure, and...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could do it.” Keith puts his hand on Shiro’s upper arms, squeezing them. It’s reassurance, but also something bright and fierce. He probably hates being underestimated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods and closes his eyes. His emotions still clash wildly in his chest. A mix of ‘that was amazing’ and ‘how could he know?’ and ‘please never fall again.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he opens them again, Keith has totally lost his smile. Instead, his eyes are bright with guilty desperation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t deserve to feel bad because of the nonsense in Shiro’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro forces a smile and ruffles Keith’s hair, specifically to send some of that sand flying. “That was amazing. You just gave me a scare. Next time give me some warning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s gaze flickers over, looking for a lie. He won’t find it, because Shiro won’t let him. So instead Keith snorts and rolls his eyes. “That’s not fair. You didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart catches again. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith startles at the raw word. Then his eyes go wide. “Oh, uh...” He hesitates long enough for Shiro to feel faint. “This summer, on the speeder. You went over that hill with us both on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, right. Their little crash. It had barely been a tumble, though Grandfather had carried on like they’d nearly killed themselves. Shiro nods, still dizzy. “Right, yes. Guess that was a little worse for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t know about the memories. Obviously he doesn’t know. No one does, and they’ve had a year to talk about it if they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Keith does know... that would make it real. It would make the future a fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it would also mean someone understands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes off the thought. Instead he gives Keith a grin. “That was pretty cool, though. How’d you figure out where to stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Keith lets his smirk grow again. “Just felt right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro groans dramatically, which he knows is what Keith wants. Those instincts are infuriating: Shiro builds his skill through trial and error and mental calculations. Keith just knows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a step forward, Shiro looks down over the edge of the cliff. It looks even taller here, standing still and staring straight down, then flying off it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How were you thinking of jumping this?” Shiro asks, letting his honest awe trickle into his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s cheeks go faintly pink, even under the dirt. He gets off his hoverbike and sits down at the edge of the cliff and pats the spot next to him. “Gun the engines at the end. You’ll generate enough upward force to slow down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s tight timing. You’d have to do it late enough that gravity wouldn’t pull you back down anyway, and early enough to not crash.” Shiro sits down as well, but a foot back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith gives him a curious look, even as he shrugs. “Yeah. But tight timing is what we do, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. It’s possible. I could calculate-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please, Shirogane.” Keith rolls his eyes, bracing his hands behind him. “You’re not counting milliseconds when you fall. You’d know when.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’d be fun,” Shiro shoots back primly, because it would be. It had been last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith just snorts at him. Then he looks back over his shoulder, taking in the distance between Shiro and the cliff. “I know you’re not afraid of heights.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not. I just... I don’t want to fall without a bike. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith quirks a brow and holds out a hand. His grin is cocky but his posture is gentle. “I’d catch you.” It’s half brag, and half simple statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro softens. He looks at the offered hand, rough at the palms and fingertips despite his favored gloves. “I know. But I don’t want you to have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want Keith to fall with him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes Keith pause. He considers Shiro, then nods. “Well, we’re safe anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” He stands and dusts off his pants, as if it makes any difference at all. It’s a damn good thing they changed out of their uniforms before heading out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro climbs up too and retrieves his bike. “Yeah, we have moonlight to burn and dunes to hop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Meet you there.” With a smirk over his shoulder - one that makes Shiro’s heart catch yet again - Keith drives off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro swallows, cursing the fact that Keith doesn’t even know how devastating that look is. Then he hops on his hoverbike and rides after.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Day by day, the pressure on the cadets grows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems ridiculous to struggle under the weight of classes. Keith is barely younger than when he had tracked down the Blue Lion in the dream. In a year, they’d already be paladins. So how can a couple of tests make him feel beaten down?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t help that, for the first time in years, Keith is taking these classes for the first time. He’d dropped out by now, and so he never knew the horrors of the astrogeology midterm or Physics II pop quizzes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has to actually study. Which sucks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His simulation scores don’t falter at all, but his grades dip for the first time. He’s never been perfect, and didn’t care to be. He’s not Shiro and he doesn’t bemoan getting one or two questions wrong. But falling an actual letter grade is startling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which leads to evenings spent in the library. Not just with Shiro, but with Adam as well, and sometimes Matt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It really, really sucks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worse, no one else has Keith’s particular issue of ‘running out of strange memory knowledge.’ Adam continues at the same pace. Matt barely needs to work at all, having inherited that damn Holt genius.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can forgive that. He remembers Pidge too well. Having someone who looks nearly the same babble on about topics is almost comforting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He tries not to think about the fact that Pidge doesn’t exist, not as he knows her. There’s just Katie Holt, living her normal life)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, the one that annoys him is Shiro. Yes, Shiro studies, but it’s a function of his perfectionism, not need. He just seems to get things, and he’s obnoxiously, cheerfully happy to help anyone who needs it. Even when they don’t ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankly, Keith’s glad that he’s never been social enough to offer tutoring to anyone. It’d be horrifying to know how annoying he’d been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the moment, Shiro has been thankfully distracted by Matt. The two of them are in a spirited, if whispered, debate on the merits of further automation in piloting programs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fleshy monkey hands aren’t fast enough,” Matt says, making pincer gestures. “Robots are better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches from the corner of his eye, worried that the flip comments on the failure of the human body will hit close to home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Shiro isn’t bothered (or at least, doesn’t seem to be). “Computers are only as capable of decision making as their creators.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good thing I’m smarter than you, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m waiting for any evidence of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s hand stills mid-equation, distracted by watching. It’s hard to care about logarithmic functions when instead he can watch Matt and Shiro dive into a topic he actually cares about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he watches, Keith scrambles for something to add. Something that will help out and make Shiro smile at him. But he doesn’t know any good time to speak up - there’s no pause between their impassioned whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An elbow hits Keith in the side. He jolts, then turns to see Adam watching him, eyebrows high behind his thick-rimmed glasses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” He mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been staring,” Adam says calmly, nodding to Keith’s homework. There’s a blotch of ink where he rested the pen without moving it for far too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith curses and scrambles for a tissue, but it’s no use. At least it hasn’t soaked through to the table. Instead he just starts his equation over in a clean spot. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem.” Adam turns back to his textbook, like that’s the end of that. But the second Keith starts to focus again, he speaks. “You don’t have to be jealous, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jealous? Keith stares at Adam, who doesn’t so much at twitch under the intense look. It’s more than their classmates could say. “What are you talking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think Shiro’s going to go for Holt. You’re safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Go for...?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, Matt and Shiro?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith whips his head back around. The pair of them are shoulder to shoulder, eyes bright as they harshly whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That hadn’t happened before, but Keith also hadn’t been in Shiro’s class. And Shiro had sacrificed himself to get Matt to safety when they were captured. Could he have had feelings for him? Does he now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam sighs, drawing Keith’s attention back to him. “I said he’s not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well that didn’t explain why Adam had even thought it was a possibility in the first place. Even so, Keith forces himself to unbristle. “Why would I care?” He pauses, then narrows his eyes. “Why would you care?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t start. I got over that months ago.” Adam rests his elbow on the spine of the book, using that to hold it in place while he focuses on Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Was Adam over Shiro? That was... kind of scary, honestly. That was the first time their lives had started to go in the same direction, then changed away. Keith had been fine with that before, but faced with the reality...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach, Keith shrugs. “Okay. So why would I care?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you two are obsessed with each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blanks his expression, but he can feel his cheeks go red. He just hopes Shiro and Matt are two absorbed in their conversation to notice. He doesn’t need them interfering right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not,” Keith hisses out, even as his blush deepens. Because... well, Adam’s not all wrong, is he? Just half wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like Keith is going to try anything. He knows where this goes. Shiro has never been meant for him, and he got over that before the dream’s Kerberos mission. What they have is already what Keith needs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anything else is a risk. Keith often gets called out on his risks, but this is one that he knows isn’t worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam doesn’t even bother to roll his eyes or scoff. He just stares Keith down. “You’re always together. Before you do anything you check in with each other. Neither of you talk about yourselves without starting off with the other’s name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And apparently it made Adam stop liking Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is Keith ruining Shiro’s relationships? Last time, Adam and Shiro didn’t make it, but they still lived together for years. It must have been good for a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The difference between now and then, it seems, is that Keith is here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re friends,” Keith says, desperation leaking into his voice. He pushes away his homework, heart pounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s brows raise again. “So are we, and you aren’t like that with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Oh. Adam has never called them friends before. Keith might have called him Shiro’s friend, not his own. But he doesn’t disagree. It’s nice, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except for the bit where Keith being their friend is breaking them apart. Maybe it wasn’t an ultimate fairytale happy ending, but Adam had been good for Shiro once, and now he won’t. Because Adam thinks they’re obsessed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck fuck fuck. This had started a year ago, and Keith had been glad. He’s a moron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like that.” Keith stares at Adam, heart pounding. He thinks back to nearly a year ago when he’d spoken to Shiro about Adam’s crush. He should have encouraged it instead of selfishly enjoying the extra time together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam shrugs and turns back to his book, flipping to the next page. It’s probably for effect rather than because he actually finished. “Sure. Doesn’t mean you don’t want to be. I’m just saying you don’t need to be jealous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait. Is Adam trying to get Keith and Shiro together?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is wrong. Keith had made this wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shoves his papers and pencil into his bag, not caring that he’s crumpling them up horribly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam sits up straighter and frowns at him. “Hey. I didn’t mean-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith?” Shiro turns to face him, hands dropping as he suddenly gives up on his discussion. His grey eyes are wide with concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s clear exactly why Adam thinks there’s something between them. He’s wrong, but Keith can see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to go,” Keith chokes out. He tosses his bag over his shoulder and bolts, ignoring the annoyed cry from an upperclassman he nearly slams into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith!” Shiro calls again, shockingly loud for a library. But Keith is out before he can follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s instinct is to head to his dorm. It’s his personal space, where he can curl up and think in peace. But it’s also the first place Shiro will look for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, that’s the worst case scenario. Keith needs to plan. He needs to figure out where he went wrong and fix things. He can’t do that with Shiro fussing over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he heads down the opposite side of the hallway. Keith ducks between other students and instructors. Eventually, he spots an empty classroom with the door opened. This close to dinner, no one else should come by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ducking in, Keith closes the door and leans against it. He slides down, so anyone looking inside will only see the empty desks and not the top of his head. His breath comes in heavy bursts, not from the short run but his own racing mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith digs out his mother’s knife from his bag and clutches it to his chest. His thumb rubs over the wrapped insignia, feeling the familiar shape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knife has never awoken. Keith’s knowledge is spotty, right or wrong in so many little ways. He remembers classes until this year, but not who was in them. He remembers his instructors, but they don’t act the same way to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s knife has never changed. The age he should activate it comes in only a year, but he’s still in class. Kerberos hasn’t happened, and as far as he knows, no other mission has had the same strange ending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe the problem isn’t his knowledge. Maybe it’s Keith. He had to prove himself to activate it: pass a trial. And instead he’s following after Shiro like a puppy and messing around in classes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That would be fine. Keith can’t be anywhere else, not yet. Sure, he could find Blue, but he couldn’t do anything with the lion, assuming it’s real. He needs to be at the Garrison until either they can start Voltron or... or nothing happens, and he knows it’s not real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the process, the way Keith has clung to Shiro and monopolized his time is hurting Shiro. For no reason other than the selfish desire to stay close, Keith has chased away the people Shiro would otherwise grow close to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The memories showed a future that Keith craves. A scenario that, despite the struggles and hardships and pain, Keith needs. It has family, friends, a purpose. That's what makes Keith better than an angry, unwanted burden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead of leading toward that, instead of creating a world where Shiro has the relationships he needs (at least until the break-up), Keith inserted himself. He’s given no thought about how those changes affect the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankly, Keith’s an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning forward, Keith presses his forehead to the wrapped blade. A vibration runs through him, not tears but a horrified energy that keeps growing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As long as Keith holds onto Shiro so close, no one else will approach Shiro. And since Shiro will never choose Keith, he’ll be alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer is clear. Keith needs to step back. He needs to give Shiro the space to form other relationships. Adam may not have been happily ever after for Shiro, but someone else will be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith can’t explain how he knows this. He can’t tell Shiro ‘by the way, we have to hang out less, because your future husband might get scared off.’ Even if that wouldn’t make Keith sound crazy...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, it means that this whole time, Keith has been working with an advantage. He always knows what Shiro needs because he has years of extra memories. Isn’t it creepy to take advantage of that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Keith ever told Shiro ‘I know your future and I used that as a shortcut to be friends’, of course his reaction will be to feel violated. Shiro is so private. He’d shared his fears about his disease, unaware that Keith had already knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can never tell him. He wants to step back, not make Shiro hate him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll suck a little now, and it’ll make Shiro’s life better in the long run, without totally ruining their friendship. Their connection has survived worse than not hanging out every day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the right thing to do. It’s the right thing for Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if it’s going to hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something is wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the last few days, Keith has been absolutely scarce. Shiro has never had trouble tracking him down before. They have all their classes together, after all. The rest of the time, Keith is usually in his dorm or with Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not anymore. Shiro tries to bolt after him the second lessons let out, but Keith always manages to disappear before he can corner him. He’s been either skipping lunch or eating it outside of the cafeteria, and he stays out of his dorm until after curfew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first day, Shiro tried not to take it to heart. Keith was naturally solitary. Maybe he just needed space. The second day of no contact at all was stranger, and the third was downright worrisome. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is a ghost. No in person contact, no caught glances in class, no answers to text messages. He even manages to disappear down hallways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro likes to think of himself as patient. But it hasn’t even been half a week and he’s at wit’s end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he does the only thing he can think of. He starts where it all began.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically, he corners Adam on the way to the dorms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened between you and Keith?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the first time Shiro’s asked that. When Keith originally ran off, Shiro had questioned Adam. But this time it’s different: it’s not just curious worry. Now, there’s an accusation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam said something and Keith has been gone. As gone as he can be without skipping classes completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s reasonable if Shiro is a little suspicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Adam pulls off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I told you, I didn’t say anything weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, what did you say, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing he doesn’t already know.” Under Shiro’s glare, Adam finally slumps. “I teased him a little, but it was mild. Nothing that should have upset him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Protective fury rises in Shiro. He clenches his jaw around the urge to physically snarl. “You did what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam leans back against the wall and crosses his arm. His posture is confident, but he stays cautiously out of Shiro’s reach. “Calm down, would you? He’s my friend too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes, Shiro takes a deep breath and makes himself let it go. Calm. Collected. He’ll get better answers if he doesn’t make Adam defensive. And they are friends. All of them. It’s not fair to jump down Adam’s throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro is worried. And he knows from experience that Adam can have a sharp tongue - sometimes sharper than he means to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his dreams, he’d taken the brunt of that. Adam’s words can cut and keep bleeding for days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please just tell me what you talked about.” Shiro forces himself to meet Adam’s gaze, made more intense by the lack of glasses as a barrier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam presses hips lips thin but nods. “Okay. It was when you and Matt were going on. He was staring like... I don’t know, I guess like he was worried. Like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stomach dropping, Shiro steps back. Had Keith felt left out? Usually, Keith wasn’t one for debate. He was more of a doing guy than a talking guy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as he has more space, Adam visibly relaxes. Shiro probably crowded him more than he meant to. “He was distracted. So I... I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. You and Matt aren’t anything. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks rapidly, following that trail of logic. Aren’t anything what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Wait, like dating?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not,” Shiro says, honestly confused now. “What does arguing have to do with dating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing, really. You were just wrapped up in your discussion. Like I said, it was teasing. So I said he didn’t need to be jealous. Everyone knows he’s your favorite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s stomach drops out. He feels his cheeks and ears burn with the force of his blush. “You said...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam twitches, like he wants to look away, but resists. It’s clear he thinks he didn’t do anything wrong. “I think I said you guys are obsessed with each other. Which is teasing still, but it’s correct. You do everything together. I barely see you apart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obsessed? “We’re not...That’s not what it’s like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clearly.” Adam shrugs. “But you guys are close, and people are jealous of friends too. He brought up, um...” For the first time, pink stains Adam’s cheeks too. “My crush. Last year. I said I was over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro had noticed that. Adam doesn’t shoot him any of those side-glances anymore. But that seems mean to say, because it acknowledges he knew. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, oh.” Adam shrugs, elaborately casual. But his embarrassment doesn’t stop him. “Wasn’t like I had much of a chance when you’d rather be around Keith all the time. I said as much, and Keith just bolted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Shiro gets it. The problem isn’t the teasing. It’s that Adam’s view let Keith see outside of his own perspective. He saw how Shiro acted without the lens of their friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the outside, Shiro’s stupid crush must be obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, Keith won’t talk to Shiro at all. He won’t even look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks away, his whole body tense. “Why would you...?” His voice trails off, because it’s not fair to blame Adam. He hadn’t done anything but told the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is Shiro’s fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s posture finally softens. “Hey,” he says, quieter than before. “I really didn’t mean anything by it. Did I hit a nerve?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Shiro says, forcing his voice to stay even. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arching one brow, Adam cocks his head, utterly disbelieving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dream, Adam had been the one person who saw through Shiro’s bullshit. It seems that holds true, even now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It hadn’t been enough to keep them together, either. And then Adam had died.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(If Shiro knew how to tell Adam not to fly to defend Earth from an alien invasion without sounding crazy, he would. He also doesn’t think it would work.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the two of you need to talk,” Adam finally says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would if I could,” Shiro says, barking out a single, dark laugh. “I think I get what happened. Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, Shiro hopes so. It probably means putting a better gag on his crush, or trying to smother his heart completely. But it’ll be worth it if Keith stops hiding away from everyone. Adam and Matt are his friends too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s lips still press into a thin, dubious line. But he nods. “Okay. Let me know if I can help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Shiro says, confident there’s nothing Adam can do. He steps back, letting Adam slip away without being loomed over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam hesitates, then gives him a little clap on the shoulder and a squeeze before he heads out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro watches him go. Once he’s alone in the hallway, he allows himself a long, pained sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he doesn’t have time to mope. He needs to make this right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has been avoiding his dorm until curfew. That’s fine, because he always comes back eventually. And Shiro is supposed to be patient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chin up, Shiro heads down the halls and parks himself in front of Keith’s dorm room. He sits down, back to the wall, and breaks out his textbooks to get started on his homework.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll wait as long as it takes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That turns out to be five hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By that point, Shiro has finished all his homework, reviewed tomorrow’s reading, doodled over two sheets of paper and given himself a back ache. The boredom and worry of sitting there are more than worth it when Keith finally appears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a solid half an hour past curfew - a serious risk if he’s noticed in the halls. Keith creeps around the open corner like a prey animal darting between trees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith sees Shiro, he freezes in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart freezes too. He stands, dropping his pens and notebook to the floor without an ounce of care. “Keith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes flicker up and down Shiro, and then he looks down at his feet. “Hi,” he says, as if this is totally normal. He makes for his door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s tempting to step in front of it and block him, but Shiro won’t. He won’t force Keith to spend time around him if he doesn’t want to, and he never wants to make his extra bulk into a weapon against his best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Shiro speaks faster. “Can you talk? It’s been a few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m tired,” Keith says, mumbling out the words. He still doesn’t meet Shiro’s eyes as he steps around him for the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s hands clench at his side. “Tomorrow?” He knows he sounds pathetic, but he wants to clear the air. He wants to make this right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still without looking over, Keith shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course he doesn’t want to talk. If he did, Keith had plenty of opportunities already. But that’s never been his style, and less so when he’s clearly uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has already fucked this up too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Shiro forces out. Something too deep must have slipped out of his tone, because Keith tenses further. “I see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Keith says. He pauses, then opens his door and steps through. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be,” Shiro says, so quiet he doubts Keith can hear him through the wood. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no reply from the empty hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing hard, Shiro picks up his things and shoves them away. He straightens up and sets his shoulders, refusing to let even the empty hallway see the way his stomach is trying to turn inside out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dreams aren’t real. They can’t be, because Shiro feels like he’s going to fall apart just from this. How is he supposed to survive torture, war, and dying with the steady calm everyone expected of him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sets down the hallway with a habitual military march he’s never truly learned. Once inside his room, he carefully puts away the books and homework he’d roughly treated. Even in privacy, he keeps his hands steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That done, he runs through his stretches, not even wincing at the twinges in his arms. Then he changes, brushes his teeth, and goes to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t carry on. There’s no point. It’s never changed anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll handle it, one day at a time. Just like he always has.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith had known avoiding Shiro was going to be hard. He hadn’t known it would hurt like their fight in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stakes aren’t nearly as high, and neither of them are going to get killed. But in some ways, it’s worse. During that battle, Keith knew something was wrong. There was an explanation, a reason neither of them were at fault, if he could just figure it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Keith could snap Shiro out of it. It hurt in the moment, and the fear for Shiro’s life had strangled him. But there was something else to blame and a way to fix it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, there’s no one at fault but Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Avoiding his friends becomes physically easier. Shiro no longer tries to chase Keith down or catch his eyes in class. Without that one-sided effort, the break should be better. Cleaner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if anything, Keith feels worse. He hates that Shiro has given up on them, even though Keith gave him no other options. He hates remembering Shiro’s wounded tone and posture when they had that quick exchange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Above all, he hates that each day, Shiro looks more hurt than the last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s subtle. Keith doesn’t think anyone but him will notice. But he has the advantage of his memories, in knowing the ways Shiro buries his worries and wounds in work and polite distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro talks less in class. He talks less, period. At meals he picks at his food and barely raises his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has tried not to watch, but it’s like asking himself to dig out his eyes. Not worth the pain and the consequences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plan is worth it, though. Keith can’t mess up the future. Especially not Shiro’s. He can’t stand to take away what it gives them both - a family, a home, a purpose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith will take hits if he needs to. He dove into the fray with the Blades over and over when he was only a year older than he is now. And Shiro means as much to him as that knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the right thing, even if it hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Keith just wishes the pain came from bruises instead of this heartache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Keith keeps to himself. Unsurprisingly, it’s easy to do. Shiro was the one who made any effort to engage their classmates. The only ones who pay him any mind are the ones who make cruel comments under their breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s fists clench when he sees their smirks, hears their murmurs. It’s clear they take pleasure in Keith’s sudden isolation. One makes openly gleeful comments that maybe he and Shiro will fight in public.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without Shiro by his side, Keith’s temper flares. There’s no counter balance, no one’s eyes to catch instead, no one to defend him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ignores the jeers as best he can, biting down on his tongue rather than respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith thinks he’s the only one getting those sneers. After all, Shiro still has Matt and Adam around, and he’s more friendly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, he thinks so until he hears that Shiro is in Iverson’s office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For fighting another cadet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith only hears about it after, from the avalanche of whispers and speculation the fight creates. He freezes in the hallway, facing away as he overhears a group of their classmates excitedly spreading the news - Shirogane and Koplar fought. Maybe bones were broken. Isn’t that exciting?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart catches in his throat. He closes his eyes against an immediate, protective surge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The best thing Keith can do would be to stay away. But it’s Shiro, possibly hurt, and having been attacked for unknown reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So of course Keith charge his way to Iverson’s office. The door is closed, but he can hear Iverson’s muffled voice. The door blocks most of it, but occasionally Keith can pick out words - “unacceptable”, “expectations”, “record.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All familiar. Keith winces in sympathy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the bench next to Iverson’s office, Adam leans back and crosses his arms. Thankfully, none of Koplar’s goons are hanging around either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam glances over when he hears approaching footsteps. He looks unimpressed with Keith’s sudden appearance, and says nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he okay?” Keith blurts out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam snorts. “Well, he’s going to have a serious black eye, and his face bled as much as you would expect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s stomach sinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, and I can’t believe I’m actually saying this... you should see the other guy.” Adam’s lips quirk up and his eyes shine with dark satisfaction. “Shiro’s in there alone. Koplar is still getting patched up. Stitches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Shiro hit another cadet hard enough that he needed stitches?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s worryingly unlike Shiro. But Keith can’t help the pride burning in his stomach, like coals after a fire. Their sparring is paying off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sits down on the bench, despite the fact that Adam has made no move to invite him. It sounds like Iverson is still mid-rant, which means he has time. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you really want to hear?” Adam shoots back. “You would know if you hadn’t been avoiding us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True enough. Keith’s stomach flips as he looks at his feet. “It’s just weird. Shiro’s never...” Shiro’s temper isn’t usually violent. He prefers words to fists, unless there’s no other option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, Keith thinks so. But Shiro also survived a year in the arena last time around. Even the version of him from the Garrison can throw down when he needs to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam sighs and leans back against the wall, his eyes closed. “I don’t know how I ended up the middleman between you two.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith winces and says nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Adam doesn’t seem to need an answer. He doesn’t open his eyes or move his stiff posture. “Koplar said plenty of things. What set off the fight was... That you got tired of Shiro sucking you off for help in the sims.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Yeah. That’d do it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Koplar had managed to hit on the awkwardness between them and Shiro’s fears of inadequacy in one insult. Keith would be impressed if he wasn’t so fucking furious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lightheaded with anger, Keith stands up-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only to be yanked back down by his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Adam says, sharp enough to be an order. Keith bristles, but Adam continues on. “Shiro defended himself fine. You going over there and making a fuss is going to make it worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith growls back, frustration and anger robbing him of his words. But Adam doesn’t so much as blink, even in the face of Keith’s bared teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worse, he's right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks away, grinding his teeth. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Adam slumps. “Look,” he says, quieter this time. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you. But if I said something that really insulted you or messed things up, I’m sorry. I really was only teasing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith softens, his hands dropping into his lap. “It wasn’t you. Not really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what?” Adam’s voice finally raises, unlike when Keith has been growling in his face. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Can’t you just talk it out and be friends again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Keith says. He wraps his arms around his stomach, as if he can hold back the inevitable churning pain. “I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t get it,” Adam mutters, but it's so quiet that it's more for himself. “Whatever it is, I hope you figure it out soon, because you’re both miserable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith flinches and says nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only then, with their discussion over, does Keith realize that Iverson has stopped yelling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door opens. Shiro steps out, cheeks flushed and jaw set mulishly. Just as Adam had said, one eye is already deep red, and will no doubt turn purple tonight. A gash runs from his ear to the middle of his forehead. Below is still stained red from hastily wiped blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember my warnings, Cadet,” Iverson calls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Sir,” Shiro says, voice tight with anger. He closes the door firmly behind him, only barely not slamming. Then he turns to the bench, where he no doubt knows Adam waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He freezes at the sight of Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes as well. His eyes stick to the wounded eye. All of him tenses, both in preparation to hurt Koplar and against the urge to reach out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence holds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Shiro closes his eyes and sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turns, shoulders squared, and walks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart sinks. Watching Shiro walk away from him hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a heartbeat, he isn’t in the Garrison. He's in the Blade base, watching the hologram of his friend give up on him for his stubborn choices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heat burns behind Keith’s eyes, a distant threat of tears. He blinks it away and swallows hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> What does he have to complain about? This was exactly what he’s been doing to Shiro for over a week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam stands, then pauses. He looks between them both, lips pressed thin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go,” Keith manages, voice rough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Adam asks, though his eyes follow Shiro as he walks away. “He’s just going to go to the med wing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where Koplar probably is,” Keith shoots back. “Seriously, go. He’s bleeding. He needs you more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as much as he needs you,” Adam mutters. But he grabs his bag and sets off after Shiro with only one more glance back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sits on the bench, breathing raggedly around the lump in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staying away seemed like the right thing to do. It makes sense. It’s necessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So why does it hurt so bad?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Keith stands up and walks the opposite way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His head is hazy, full of memories and questions. The future he’d dreamed was so good for them. How can Keith be wrong in trying to preserve it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, that was the same future that tortured Shiro for a year. Maybe following it to a T isn’t the right choice. But that torture leads to Voltron, to Shiro becoming a paladin, to his long term survival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t ask anyone. He can only make the choices that seem right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His instincts are supposed to be good. What are they saying now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t tell, because so much of him is screaming to return to Shiro’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down feels impossible. Keith needed to move. His best thinking is done on the fly, and he needs every advantage he can get. So he ghosts through the hallways, ignoring dinner and curfew alike as his mind runs in circles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a close call with an instructor well after lights out, it becomes obvious Keith needs a better place to hide. Somewhere he can stay late into the night where no one will notice him. A place he isn’t known to haunt, not in this lifetime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Keith makes for the roof.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's easier than he remembers. The door isn’t even locked. Outside, the moon is nearly full and the air is sharply cold. Bracing. Perfect for thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith steps to the edge, looking out at the hazy glow of Platu City on the horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he notices a limp form, slumped against the half-wall, dressed in a cadet uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s first, panicked thought is that he’s stumbled on a dead body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the slow rise and fall of the chest, the dark shadow over one eye, and the familiar shock of bangs bring him back to reality. This isn’t a body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is Shiro, asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Asleep where they used to stargaze on the roof in the old memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Asleep in the cold of the desert night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Keith breathes. He kneels down and puts a hand on Shiro’s shoulder, shaking him. “Hey. C’mon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro goes from asleep to awake in seconds. His eyes snap open. At the same moment, he swings out, his elbow catching Keith in the chest. The impact knocks him back hard. Keith only barely manages to catch himself before he hits the concrete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearly their sparring is getting good results. First Shiro's successful brawl, now this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks from side to side, gaze still groggy and unfocused. It’s not until he sees Keith that he stills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” he breathes. His voice is pure, naked longing. Relief and pain and hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s lungs stop. He freezes, staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another blink, and Shiro seems to come back to himself. He slumps back, arms automatically wrapping around himself as he shivers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean- I can go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should,” Keith says, before he thinks about it. Only when Shiro flinches does he realize how it sounds. “No, I don’t- you’re shivering.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Shiro says, a purely automatic response. He goes stiff, tense enough to hide his shivers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not what Keith meant, dammit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Keith says, offering a hand. Yes, his plan is to avoid Shiro, but it’s different when he’s laying here like a half-frozen rag doll. “Let’s get you to your dorm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro eyes the hand, then looks away. “I’m fine,” he repeats, clear and polite. The tone he uses on the rest of the world, but not on Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re not,” Keith snaps back, voice low with frustration. He hates that Shiro does this, and he hates that Shiro’s using that stupid voice on him, and he hates that it’s come to this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is this so fucking hard?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro bristles, his eyes flashing. “I. Am. Fine.” He braces a hand on the half-wall and heaves himself up to his feet. There, he stares down at Keith, eyes black in the moonlight, their height difference made even more dramatic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, all at once, the tension goes out of him. “Sorry. I have no business being upset with you, do I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sudden change is so strange that Keith can only stare, mouth falling open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence makes Shiro flinch. “I know,” he says, responding to something Keith only said in his own head. “You’ve made yourself clear. For the record, I am so sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Keith bursts out, utterly stunned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro opens his mouth. Closes it. He crosses his arms again as the shivers begin to show. “You don’t want to be around me. I thought...” He trails off, slumping. “I drove you away. That you’re uncomfortable around me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every defence shatters in Keith’s chest. It takes all his strength to keep from pulling Shiro down and into a hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he says, keeping his voice steady. “It’s not like that. It’s nothing you’ve done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares, confusion mixing with his pain. “Then why?” He bursts out. His eyes redden at the edges, to Keith’s horror. “Why do you hate me now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tugs on Shiro’s jacket, pulling him down until they’re level. He doesn’t let go after, even if he knows he should. “I don’t! I’ve never hated you. I can’t.” Shiro will never know how true that is. It’s not in Keith to hate Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Shiro says. He lands on his knees and stays there, head down. His eyes, barely visible past his bangs, are redder than before. “I’m being dramatic. I just miss you. And I don’t understand what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no way Keith can explain his knowledge, and no way it won’t destroy their friendship, especially this ragged, wounded version of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe he doesn’t have to explain all of it. Just the part Shiro can understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Adam mentioned his old crush, and said he got over it because we were always together. And that’s not fair, is it? That you won’t have a boyfriend or whatever because I’m around all the time. So I thought it was better if I wasn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s head comes up. His eyes are wide, the color washed out of them in the dim light of the moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he dives forward, catching Keith in the chest. He shoves them both down, him on top of Keith, pinning him to the concrete.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it?” Shiro demands, loud enough that his voice echoes around them. He doesn’t seem to care that their fight might be noticed. “That’s why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to be happy!” Keith snaps back, too stunned to do anything but lay there. “Don’t you want to date someone who loves you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mouth falls open. For a moment, something pained flashes behind his eyes. But he blinks it away, and instead grabs Keith by the jacket and jerks him up. “That’s my choice! Why would you decide this by yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith opens his mouth, but he has no words. He can’t explain his thought process because of his secrets. Even if he could, he doesn’t think Shiro would be very receptive right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You idiot!” Shiro snarls. He blinks, and his eyes are suddenly darker and hazy. A moment later, a thick tear trickles down his cheek, and then another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is crying. He didn’t cry when admitting his disease. He didn’t cry when he fought with his grandfather or thought he might not come back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now he does. Because of Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, Keith might have fucked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care about that,” Shiro continues. His voice is thick as he keeps snarling through his tears. “I care about you! You’re my best friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s own chin wobbles. The words hit him deep, someplace scared and wounded. Not to mention Shiro’s tears just seem to draw out his own. “But...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s between a boyfriend and you, I pick you, Keith,” Shiro says, quieter now. He doesn’t let go, and his tears continue to build and fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t,” Keith forces out. “That’s not right.” It’s not how it was in his memories, and those are good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith just doesn’t understand why Shiro would pick him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do anyway.” Shiro gives him a single, fierce shake. Then he slumps in place, all the fight going out of him. “I pick you. Besides, why would I want a boyfriend who’s that mad that I have a best friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s such a clear piece of logic, but it still makes Keith reel. Anyone who is too intimidated by Shiro’s friends isn’t a good boyfriend anyway. If they can’t manage that, surely they won’t stay around for the long haul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why didn’t Keith think of that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t tell some future boyfriend about my cuffs,” Shiro says. “I told you. I invited you home. You met my grandfather. I pick you. So stay. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith feels tears build and fall over his cheeks. They create a warm line against the chill off the air, then become colder than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a choice to make. Keith still has all the reasons he told himself before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But right now, with Shiro over him and crying, he can’t bring himself to say no. That future is good, but it’s not what Shiro needs right now. Keith’s already changed things. He can’t walk away and leave the mess behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he doesn’t want to. Keith wants to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Keith says, his voice thick and shaking. He gives in and wraps his arms around Shiro, pulling him down to his chest. “I’ll stay. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s whole body jerks, and then he lets go and pulls Keith in tight. “Thank you,” he mumbles out, muffled into Keith’s jacket. It grows damp and warm as it absorbs Shiro’s silent tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Keith repeats, because it’s all he can do to make up for the pain they’re both in. “I thought I was helping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t reply. He just grips Keith’s jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay there long enough that Keith worries about the cold again. But he’s not about to tell Shiro to move, especially when he clings to Keith so desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Shiro picks up his head. He rests his chin on Keith’s chest and gives him a watery smile. “This was only a week. It’s going to be awful when we go on missions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith barks out a laugh. “It’ll be better. We can send messages on missions. And we won’t be fighting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shiro goes on the Kerberos mission they’ll be able to talk until Shiro can’t. Until he’s gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If they’re already changing the future maybe they can do something about that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Shiro says. He pushes himself up, then meets Keith’s eyes. “You’re important to me. Never do that again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise.” Keith means it, too. He can’t explain everything, but he’s learned his lesson.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods, because apparently that promise is enough. He stands and offers a hand, which Keith takes. “Do you want to stay out? Because I’m freezing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No wonder if you fell asleep out here, you dummy.” Keith pushes him toward the door. “When they tell you to ice your bruises, this isn’t what they mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro snorts but goes along. His movements are clumsy now - he was woken up, so he’s probably still groggy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith walks him to his dorm, because he’s not sure Shiro can avoid the officers in this state. Once there, he opens the door for him. “Go sleep, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks at him, then steps forward and pulls him into a tight hug. Keith suppresses a squeak before melting into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to have you back,” Shiro mumbles into Keith’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes snap open. Luckily, Shiro is far too tired to sense his sudden tension or recognize how Keith’s heartbeat has sped up. Besides, he’d said this before. Of course Shiro knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to be back,” he says, because how can he not?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is charmingly suggestible when he’s tired. Keith is easily able to shoo him off and make sure he’s in bed before slipping out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he gets back to his own room, Keith gets ready for bed and lies down. He stares up at the blank ceiling and tries to wrap his mind around the last day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He falls asleep before he gets anywhere useful.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You!” Matt declares, pointing a finger into Shiro’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me,” Shiro replies flatly, not even blinking as he cuts his commissary sandwich in half. Around them, others turn to stare at the noise, but he can’t be fussed to react. He’s too used to Matt’s antics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks up from where he’s carefully extracting the vegetables that cruelly taint his own lunch. “Whatever you want, can you ask it at a normal volume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Matt says just as loudly, purely to be contrary. But he does sit with his own tray and scoots over to give Adam room when he follows suit. “This is important. Huge news. How dare you hide it from us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes a deliberately slow bite of his sandwich, chewing with all the haste Matt’s hysterics deserve: none. “My deepest apologies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn right,” Matt says, folding his arms on the table and nodding. He is utterly unbothered by Shiro’s insincerity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence holds before Adam groans. “Fine,” he says, shaking his head. “Why is Shiro apologizing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For keeping secrets,” Matt says, grinning widely despite his words. “He thought he could keep his birthday from us. How cruel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s composure crumples. He swallows too quickly, and the lump of sandwich travels painfully slowly down his throat. “Oh, no. Matt, do not make the jokes. I will never speak to you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” Matt says, gesturing wildly at Shiro. His hand gets too close to Keith, who smacks it down firmly. Matt winces, but plays it off with a smile. “Cruelty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s brows slowly rise. He looks between all three of them from the top of his glasses. “Happy birthday, Shiro. I fail to see what’s amusing about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technically, it would be tomorrow,” Shiro mutters. He drops his sandwich down onto his tray, bracing himself for the inevitable, terrible jokes. He’s heard them all a thousand times. Being told he’s a toddler doesn’t become funnier each year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment, but then Adam nods. “Ah. Well, happy birthday anyway.” He stabs into his salad and starts to each, just as blandly uninterested as Shiro had been a minute ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro could have kissed him for it, but well, been there, done that. Kind of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt’s bottom lip sticks out. “It’s not just that - though I will be remembering that you kept this secret, Shirogane. But, our boy turns eighteen! Or, four and a ha-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “Do. Not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s voice, at its lowest, most dangerous register, is finally enough to make Matt still. For a moment, his eyes flicker over Shiro’s face, as if genuinely assessing a threat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he should. Because Matt is about half a sentence away from getting a face full of milk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He turns eighteen!” Matt continues, backtracking without comment. “It’s a huge milestone, and he was going to let it go instead of celebrate with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Celebrate how?” Adam asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith gets me cake,” Shiro reports, smiling over at Keith. “I like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles back, suddenly bashful. Nothing gets him shy like being called out for being nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt sputters. “Keith knew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew he wouldn’t be an ass about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes Adam frown. “I wouldn’t be either. I haven’t been at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces, because it’s true. “It's a habit not to say anything. Sorry, Adam. I don’t really do birthdays anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One slice of a cake is not a celebration of becoming a man.” Matt leans forward, smiling with far too many teeth. “But a night on the town is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro opens his mouth to automatically protest, then pauses. His ‘birthday’ would have been a Saturday, but today is Friday. And Friday means there’s a bus that runs between the Garrison and Platu City for supply runs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Technically, they really could go out tonight to celebrate, if Shiro wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question is: does he want to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like a movie or something?” Keith frowns, but he doesn’t actually sound dismissive. Just thoughtful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt shrugs his shoulder. “Sure. Oooor, you know, bars. Ones that don’t card very well if you know who to talk to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. There it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, let’s plan a night of illegal drinking in the middle of the commissary. That way we can celebrate my birthday in detention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt scoffs and throws his arms out wide. “There’s no officers around and no one else gives a fuck. You think half the cadets don’t have stashes in their dorms?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Absolutely they do. Shiro knows for a fact that most of the instructors don’t actually give a damn about the underage drinking, so long as no one is stupid enough to get caught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you say?” Matt sticks out his bottom lip. “I know you don’t care about the rules, and if we were in a reasonable country you’d be legally old enough anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it sounds like a lot of bother. Shiro can think of better ways to spend his birthday. But he can also think of far worse, especially if his friends are excited about the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro looks between Keith and Adam as he starts on his lunch again. “What do you guys think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs. “If you want.” A bar almost certainly isn’t Keith’s scene. In Shiro’s dream, he hadn’t cared much about alcohol, even when he was of age, and bars are social places. But he doesn’t seem actively unhappy about the idea, merely neutral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Head cocked, Adam slowly nods. “I think it’d be fun, honestly. We don’t go to the city much as a group, and it’d be fun. We’ll all graduate before we get to turn 21 anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See?” Matt beams, sitting up straighter. At his current height, he barely tops Adam’s shoulders. Even if Shiro could explain his odd knowledge, he’d never, ever tell Matt about his growth spurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks to Keith one more time, cocking his head without a word. He doesn’t mind - it might even be enjoyable. But if Keith is going to be miserable, Shiro will veto it without a second thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith catches his eye and gives a tiny smile. It doesn’t look forced or uncomfortable. If Shiro wants to do this, then Keith is on board, and not purely out of obligation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One condition,” Shiro says. “If I see even one party accessory for a four year old, I will leave right then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt huffs, but sticks out his hand. “Deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They shake on it. Then, Keith brings up the sim run one of the other crews had bombed and the conversation is diverted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his neutrality, Shiro finds himself getting excited as the day goes on. The possibility of getting in trouble doesn’t really bother him, so long as they don’t manage to get arrested somehow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the idea is... nice. Shiro was telling the truth when he said he doesn’t do birthdays. The jokes are never worth the fuss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Keith have been exchanging cake the last couple of years, starting with Shiro pretending he didn’t want a slice he’d bought a day that just happened to be Keith’s birthday. He couldn't justify the knowledge to do it openly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s plenty. Honestly, it’s more than Shiro usually does. But having a group of friends make a big deal out of his birthday for the sake of a milestone... it’s a little appealing, if only for the novelty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s one more thing different between Shiro’s memories and now. It feels like rebellion or like being proven right. His odd dream has some correct information, but it’s not true. Not completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they pile onto the bus, Shiro is already a little bubbly. All of them are wearing regular clothes - a rare treat during the semester.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro will never admit how long he spent choosing an outfit. He wanted to look plausibly 21 - not hard with his build - and cool, but without looking like he was trying too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His new leather jacket, which had arrived with a birthday note from Grandfather earlier this week, does a lot to help the effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Shiro does his best not to think about the fact that it’s the same one from his dream.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes the seat next to Shiro, slipping in to snag the window before Shiro can. Birthdays are no excuse for being slow, after all. But when he settles in, he raises his brows at Shiro. “Excited?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Shiro says, carefully keeping his tone politely interested. It’s too possible Matt will overhear from the seat behind them. “It’ll be nice to get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smirks. He’s infuriatingly good at seeing through what Shiro projects, so no doubt he sees right to Shiro’s quietly eager core. “Matt definitely has something planned, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do. There’s no way he doesn’t.” It’s Matt, after all. There’s no situation he can’t turn around for his own amusement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other than alien gladiator tournaments, obviously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?” Shiro continues, nudging Keith with his arm. “It’ll be your turn before you know it. Want to give this another round?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wrinkles his nose as he thinks about it. It’s tempting to roll a thumb over the bridge and smooth it out. Shiro ignores the odd impulse. “Maybe? Let’s see how it goes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, that’s more agreeable than Shiro would have guessed. “Even knowing Matt would do something annoying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pausing, Keith looks up at Shiro and frowns. “Matt wouldn’t be in charge. You’re asking, so you’d do it. And you won’t do anything I’d hate. I trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The giddiness that crashes over Shiro puts his earlier excitement to shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course I wouldn’t,” Shiro says. His voice gentles despite his best efforts to sound normal. “I never want you to be uncomfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.” That settled, Keith braces a shoulder against the window and looks out. “Nice jacket, by the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro leans back against the cheap vinyl seat and adjusts the collar. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not blushing, but it’s a near thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s about a twenty minute drive to the city, but on the bus it takes 45. They arrive just after 8, which is still plenty early to hit a bar on a Friday night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last bus back leaves at midnight, though, so either they need to get their celebrating done on time, or find a place to stay on the fly. Shiro can swing for a hotel if need be, but he’d really prefer not to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go!” Matt cries, throwing both arms up. He sets off at a fast clip, winding down the streets. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro resists the urge to tell him to calm down - it is a birthday party, after all. But his carrying on is making them more suspicious than their youthful faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently that isn’t a problem, though. When they get to the bar, Matt gestures for them to wait, then sides up to the bouncer. He pulls out his wallet and slides a few bills into the bouncers hand before showing his ID.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Simple as that, they’re let inside. Matt puffs out his chest like he graduated at the top of his class.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was disappointingly simple,” Adam says. The four of them pile into a booth - at this time, the bar is barely half full, so there’s no shortage of places to sit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs. “Good thing. I don’t want to deal with fake IDs or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even so.” Adam cranes his neck to watch the door for a flash of the bouncer. “I feel like it should be harder than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna split that bill?” Matt says. He leans back comfortably, cornered between the seat and the wall. “I will not complain about that. Oh! Speaking of stuff I bought.” He digs into his bag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stiffens, curling his fingers into the fake-wood table. “You promised,” he reminds Matt, voice lowering warningly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did,” Matt agrees cheerfully. “Nothing for a four year old. Ta-da!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulls out a tiara. With pink fluff and glittery strands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the front, in bedazzled, cursive letters, it says ‘Birthday Bitch.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is certainly not appropriate for a toddler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt absolutely beams as he holds it up on his palms like a delicate piece of jewelry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Shiro stares, Adam bites his bottom lip. Then he cracks, ducking his head down and snickering too hard to contain. “He did nothing wrong,” Adam agrees, barely managing to force out the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next to Shiro, Keith bristles. “You know what he meant, Holt!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I do,” Matt says. He still holds out the plastic tiara, eyes shining. “He didn’t want a leap year joke for his birthday. This is not that. But he deserves to feel special, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro arches a brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, he picks up the tiara and delicately places it on his head. He lifts his chin in the most noble, royal posture he can manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am the birthday bitch,” he declares, with the same gravitas he might have called himself a paladin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam wheezes and drops his face to the table. “Long live the birthday bitch,” he forces out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares at them all. Then he shakes his head, but a smile cracks over his face. “You’ve all lost it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not yet, we haven’t.” Matt squirms his way past Adam without even asking him to move. “Step one is a flight of shots for our birthday bitch. I’ll start the tab. Anyone else want anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come. I want to see what they have.” Adam follows after delicately. “Keith?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, a beer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s lips quirk. “Any brand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Keith does is shrug. “Beer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beer brand beer, got it.” Adam gives a smile, softening his teasing, before he follows after Matt. The place is quiet enough that when they reach the bar, Shiro can hear Matt enthusing to the bartender about their mini-party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when his stomach starts to sink. When Matt comes back with half a dozen shot glasses on a tray, each neon colored and sweet-smelling, Shiro knows he’s fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hours later, Shiro is sure this is the best party ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now, the bar has filled up considerably. Music plays, just loud enough to be heard over the din of the crowd. Shiro doesn’t recognize it, but he’s never been one for top 40 songs anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There isn’t a dance floor so much as an open space between the tables and the bar. People cross over it or stand on the edges to order drinks. Some people are dancing as the alcohol flows, but this certainly isn’t a club.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Barely visible through the mass of people, Shiro can see Keith near the bar. He’s waiting to get another beer from the tap, but a large, rowdy group of college girls keep the bartender’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt, on the other hand, has disappeared into the dancers. Once in a while, Shiro sees him with a girl here, a boy there, but never for long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By now, the seating arrangement of their group has completely fallen apart. Shiro and Adam have ended up on the same side, both crammed farther back. Shiro is several drinks in and held up half by the wall, while Adam is moderately more sober.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam has his glasses off and holds them gently in his hands. He watches the dancers, who would be blurry to him from here. His blond hair is messy, sticking up in the back from all the times Matt has ruffled it or climbed over him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In profile and without the glasses, he looks so much like the man Shiro remembers. Usually, he ignores the information - it’s one more wrong thing from that life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he does remember the good times before the bad. Studying, flights together, competing for missions. The times Shiro woke up before him and watched him sleep, that same profile relaxed into a pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you ever think about could-have-beens?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam pauses, then turns back to look at Shiro. He puts on those chunky glasses again, breaking the effect. “Hm? Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In general,” Shiro says, shrugging. “Chances you didn’t take. Stuff you let go. Could-have-beens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brows up, Adam frowns. He turns to face Shiro, tucking his legs under him, and studies Shiro’s intense look. “Are you talking about... me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes. But no. Not Adam now. An Adam that Shiro never met. One that never really existed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of,” Shiro says. “I’m just thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s cheeks go pink, but he doesn’t break eye contact. He’s braver in Shiro in that way. “You’re pretty late for that. More than a year.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Shiro agrees. “I don’t even know why I’m bringing it up. I’m just looking back. Milestones.” He gestures vaguely in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, a tiny smile crinkles the corners of Adam’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Adam never got old enough for crows feet, did he?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you having a mid life crisis at 18?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Shiro says, puffing out his chest. He reaches up to adjust the tiara, which has slid sideways on his head. “I’m allowed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your birthday and you can be existential if you want to.” Adam shakes his head. “Honestly, why would I? It was a passing thing and you never gave me any indication you were interested. Was I wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds bad,” Shiro says. He sits up straighter, which is suddenly difficult. The alcohol makes him want to lean against something. Everything. “I could have been interested. You’re cute and funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you weren’t,” Adam continues, voice harder now. “And you still aren’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro isn’t. He’s not sure why that makes his stomach flip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Why are you bringing this up? Seriously, I don’t want to drag my stupid crush into the light a year after it died. Are you worried you aren’t pretty anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Shiro thinks he’s very handsome in this jacket, actually. It’s flattering and Keith likes it. “I don’t know. I told you, I’m just... remembering stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam continues to stare, eyes hard. It looks like late night arguments, or worse, the days where they let it go and resentments festered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to hear from me, Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s stomach twists. He’s not sure why this makes him nervous. He really doesn’t regret letting things go with Adam. But he still feels like he’s sitting next to a cliff and looking down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no safety net. There’s no second option. The relationship he had with Adam is gone long before it ever happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro loves someone who sees him as a friend. A brother, in a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam is not his fallback option. He never was and he never will be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t regret that, but it’s terrifying anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He told the truth when he fought with Keith. Shiro will always pick his best friend. And that means he’s going to go to bed alone, probably until his disease kills him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam continues to stare, lips pursed. Then he sighs and takes Shiro at his word. He turns to watch the dancers again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he’s really looking and not remembering a dream, Shiro sees the wistfulness in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning forward, Shiro presses a gentle kiss to Adam’s cheek. It’s soft, except for the slight scrape of two day old blond stubble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go dance,” Shiro says. “Have some fun. I order you.” He points to his tiara.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam cracks another smile. “Well, who am I to say no to that?” He stands up. “You’ll be okay here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Shiro stretches out his legs, taking up the whole bench with a luxurious stretch. “Go find someone cute to tease. I won’t be alone for long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith will be back soon,” Adam agrees. His voice is soft. Meaningful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s gone before Shiro can do more than blink after him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From his comfortable seat, Shiro watches Adam disappear into the crowd. Maybe he’s going after Matt. More likely, he’s looking for someone new.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wishes him the best. The moment isn't that deep - it’s a night in a hole-in-the-wall bar. But he still feels peaceful, like something in him has settled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or that’s all the alcohol talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith finally pushes his way through the crowd, carrying a pair of drinks and scowling at anyone who bumps him. Some of his beer barely splashes over the rim, coating his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Keith says. He eyes Shiro’s legs taking up a bench and sits on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could have sat on Shiro’s legs. That would have been okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...That’s definitely the alcohol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” Shiro greets. He eyes the second drink. “Double fisting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Keith squints his eyes, clearly not familiar with the term. “Whatever. You know it’s for you.” He pushes it across. “It’s a pineapple cider. Sounds gross. Figured you’d have fun with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro ‘ooh’s appreciatively and takes the glass. The first taste has a sour zing that makes him freeze, then grin. “Nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weirdo.” Keith doesn’t bother to hide his smile. “Who would have known you’re into that fruity shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, apparently.” Shiro salutes him with the glass and takes another sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t count. I know about your birthmark, I can guess the drinks you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh!” Shiro holds up a finger to his lips, as though merely mentioning his birthmark will reveal its location - on the small of his back, like a natural tramp stamp. “That doesn’t exist. I don’t know what you mean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith only chuckles. “Right, silly me.” He brings his fingers to his mouth to suck off the spilled beer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro watches helplessly as his lips wrap around his digits. His head swims.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is not the alcohol talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Not polite enough for you?” Keith rolls his eyes, but obligingly reaches for a napkin instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends on the kind of attention you want.” Shiro nods to the crowd. Several sets of couples are dancing tightly together, decent only in the letter of the law.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a face as he watches. “Good call.” He shakes his head. “Adam left you by your lonesome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a big boy. I have the tiara to prove it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding.” Keith eyes it ruefully, then his eyes track Shiro’s comfortable slump, from head to legs. “How many drinks in are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cocks his head as he tracks through the past few hours. “Do we count the shots as one or six?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like the answer is ‘too many.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah.” Shiro grins and lets his head rest back against the wall. He grins at Keith through lowered lashes. “Just enough. I feel nice. Fun. This is fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fun enough to be stuck in the booth the whole time.” Keith rests his chin on his palm, swirling the glass of beer. The liquid sloshes to the very edge but doesn’t spill again. “You want to go dance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro considers it for a moment, then shakes his head. “No. My dancing is like...” He holds his hands daintily in the air like he’s offering them to a partner. “Lessons. Structured. Not like this. And it’s no fun alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith inclines his head. The tips of his ears go pink and he hesitates before continuing. “If that’s the problem, I’ll dance with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro freezes, his lips parted. Keith is looking out at the floor, so Shiro can’t read his eyes. “For my kind of dancing, or this kind of dancing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t respond at first, his ears growing steadily redder. “I guess it is kind of different. But if you want to... it’s your birthday and all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, so a treat for Shiro, just for the sake of having fun on his birthday. Like Shiro’s fears before, Keith will go along with something he finds uncomfortable for the sake of making Shiro happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kind. More so than he’d ever believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s not what Shiro wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I want something else.” Shiro spreads his arms welcomingly. “Come here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brow furrowed, Keith obligingly leans over the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not that.” Shiro points from Keith, around the edge of the table, then to his side. “Sit with me. I want to try something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Still openly confused, Keith follows the directions. When Shiro moves his legs, he settles down next to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s middle and pulls him sideways, until he’s sitting in Shiro’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Shiro puts his chin on top of Keith’s head with smug finality. “Yes. Perfect size. I thought so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes, then barks out a laugh. “You’ve been planning this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Planning involves forethought,” Shiro informs him primly, still curled around Keith like he’s a big stuffed animal. “So no. But you looked the right size. And I’m right!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still chuckling, Keith finally leans back. Shiro has to imagine the alcohol is helping, because otherwise Keith would probably squirm away. Instead, he reaches for his drink. “Glad to know why I’m valued.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true.” Keith is teasing, but Shiro’s stomach sinks anyway. He doesn’t want Keith to ever, ever say that, even in jest. “I’ll like you even when you get big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith chokes on his sip, then puts his cup down to chuckle. “It’s okay, Shiro. You don’t need to defend my honor.” He pauses, then glances back over his shoulder. “When? I’ve always been short.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, whoops. “I believe in you,” Shiro declares, which is true anyway. “You do anything you set yourself to. So if you want to be tall, I know you will. Taller than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Keith laughs loudly, head thrown back. It rests in the middle of Shiro’s chest, warm and heavy. “You’re ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See, this is why people make four year old jokes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mean! Shiro holds Keith tighter, squeezing warningly. “Nuh-uh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith continues to snicker. “Yeah, you’re really convincing me.” He leans back, shuffling his shoulders until he gets comfortable. It mushes his hair into Shiro’s jaw, but that doesn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around them, the noise of the crowd and the music fade into the back of Shiro’s mind. Keith is warm and comfortable against him. He puts off a truly impressive amount of heat for such a compact frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes closed, Shiro takes a deep breath. Keith’s hair has the slightly chemical scent of the cheap shampoo at the Garrison general store. It’s fine, but Shiro misses the wood-ish smell that came from the Castle of Lion’s decontamination chamber.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were some good things in that dream, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The haze of the alcohol wraps around Shiro like a thick, fuzzy blanket. He relaxes further. Time passes slowly and comfortably, like a lazy river ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro,” Keith mutters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Murmuring wordlessly back, Shiro presses his cheek to Keith’s hair. At some point he closed his eyes. He’s not sure when, and definitely doesn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro,” Keith repeats. His voice is gentle, fond. There’s a hint of a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, Shiro holds him closer. “Keith,” he rumbles back, voice coming out sleep-rough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a sigh, farther away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro jolts, suddenly dragged awake from the doze he hadn’t been conscious of. He nearly shoves Keith completely off of him, only staying together by Shiro’s still strong grip around his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he focuses again, Matt is standing at the front of the table. He has his coat slung over one shoulder and his hair is a complete mess. “We gotta go if we’re catching the last bus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Is it that late? Shiro blinks, reluctantly setting Keith down. The tiara starts to fall, but he catches it and sets it right. “Got it. Where’s Adam?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.” Adam steps closer and gives a little wave. He’s wearing his jacket as well, the collar pulled up. His hair is also a wreck, but in a familiar way. Ruffled just at the back like someone was grabbing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith climbs out of the booth and offers both hands. “Come on.” When Shiro takes them, Keith easily hauls him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro goes along easily - arguing or snarking back would be too much effort. “I gotta pay before we go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt snorts and hooks his arm with Shiro’s, guiding him to the door. “Taken care of. You think you’re paying on your birthday? Hell no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Shiro hadn’t thought of that. “Thanks,” he says. Then, looking down at Matt, he smiles again. “Seriously, thank you. This was a good idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if you snoozed through the last part. Apparently being-” Matt pauses, wincing as he remembers they lied about their age, “-a year older makes you an old man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro laughs, head throw back as they step through the door. The cool night air hits him, making his cheeks feel warm. They’re probably flushed. “Apparently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets Matt continue to lead him along, even joining in for a second when he starts skipping. But it’s too much in public, even when Shiro is drunk, and especially when his balance is shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They make it to the bus just in time. Shiro is dumped into his seat. He lists to the side until his shoulder hits the wall, one hand keeping his tiara in place. “Can Adam sit here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Betrayed,” Matt says, voice low and grave. But he moves out of the way and gestures Adam in, then sits with Keith instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam smirks at him as he settles into place. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this rumpled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro coincides him gravely. Then he sticks out his tongue. “Don’t distract me. What’s with your neck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Adam goes red and pulls his jacket collar up higher. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this should bother Shiro, especially given their earlier conversation. But instead he just smiles and tugs on Adam’s lapel until his jacket slips down, revealing the red spots. “Did leaving interrupt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam goes a deeper shade of red but doesn’t try to cover up again. “No,” he says, chin rising up. “But he was in college, and I didn’t want to have the age conversation. So we had a good time and split amicably before it went anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, yeah. That was a little jailbait-y. “Not long for you, though. Just a couple of months. Maybe he’ll be there again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam cocks his head, assessing Shiro. He smiles, oddly shy. “Maybe. Or someone else. But this was nice. You wanted me to sit here to tease me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And to check in. People can get mean when they’re drunk. I just wanted to be sure.” Shiro is no one’s leader, but checking in on everyone is still something he can do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Adam says, but thankfully he doesn’t look upset at Shiro’s fussing. If anything, he’s amused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the bus heads away from the lights of Platu City and into the dark of the desert, Adam knocks their shoulders together. “I have wondered. For the record.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks and sits up straighter. “Wondered what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could-have-beens. What ifs.” Adam glances at him from the corner of his eye. “Us. It would have been good, I think. But not really right, either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro rubs his eyes, trying to force the alcohol out of his brain through sheer force of will. “Yeah. I know what you mean. I think you’re right. Very good, but maybe not forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re different people from the dream Shiro had. It could have ended differently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But probably not. And Shiro likes this version better, at least compared to the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.” Adam nudges their shoulders together and lowers his voice. “I would have rocked your fucking world, Shirogane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro beams and knocks right back. “That, I don’t doubt.” After a moment, he softens. “You’re a great friend, Adam. Thanks for putting up with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I owe you for all the help in Montgomery’s class.” Adam finally pulls away, sitting up properly. “You’re a good friend too, Shiro. I’m not sorry how things ended up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Shiro’s glad he could leave one version of Adam saying that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes, Shiro takes a deep breath and settles in for the ride.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith’s uniform is filthy, his knees are scraped, and the back of his neck is already turning red from the hot sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is his favorite exam ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilderness Survival is an odd little pass or fail class, leftover from the days where the Galaxy Garrison was a true military. The upperclassmen like to tell horror stories about their exams - how students were lost in a forest or a desert and never turned up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Often they were eaten by something. Half the time that ‘something’ was decidedly supernatural.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has never been bothered by those rumors. His childhood was a series of wilderness survival lessons, at least as far as the desert was concerned. He’s confident in his ability to find his way to civilization.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The worst part, he had thought, was going to be dragging along some idiot partner the whole way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But actually, that turned out to be the best part. Because Keith’s randomly chosen partner is Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His best friend is highly competent, cool-headed in an emergency, and motivated to do well despite the lack of a letter grade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is also very much a city boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up at one of the towering trees, Shiro frowns up at the lowest set of branches. “If one of us climbs up to the treeline we might be able to see some landmarks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brows up, Keith rests his hand on the hilt of his knife. Since it’s only Shiro with him, he feels comfortably openly carrying it around. It’ll be helpful. “They’re not going to drop us close enough to town to spot it from a tree.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They might,” Shiro returns. “Depends on how large the area is.” He smooths down his undershirt. The jacket is neatly folded in his bag to avoid it getting dirty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is dumb. This is their best opportunity to mess up these ugly cadet jackets. Keith is hoping he gets an excuse to rip it up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Save it for later,” Keith says instead. “Let’s find water and see about finding food. When it gets dark we can look for lights on the horizon.” Light pollution can give civilization away, even when it’s far too distant to see the buildings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that they set off, following a gentle downward curve. Keith stays quiet, listening for water. In the desert he’d follow animals to any water sources. Here, there’s just too many creatures for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro follows along, stepping carefully to keep quiet. Every time there’s a rustle around them, he tenses and snaps his head toward the noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of them are too small to be anything but squirrels or birds. Maybe the odd rabbit. But pointing that out would just make Shiro pout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes half an hour of tromping around before they find a brook. Following that, they find a decent natural pond: big enough to attract wildlife and support some fish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilderness Survival Training has two possible win scenarios: They can find their way back to town and be done early, or they can last two weeks and signal down the Garrison ‘rescue’ planes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith would prefer the first option, but he’s going to be ready if it comes to the second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How comfortable do you feel looking for edible plants?” Keith asks. Their emergency pack - standard on any plane, designed to withstand a crash - does have a few days of rations. But they’ll do better looking now when they’re not hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s lips twist. “Depends on what area we ended up in. But I think I’m alright.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Alright’ is code for ‘got a perfect score on our quizzes.’ Keith nods. “Okay, you do that and I’ll filter some water and set some traps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good.” Despite his words, Shiro’s expression is distinctly unhappy. No doubt he’d far rather head for town, but he knows the smart answer is to be prepared. “We can do some testing before we need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Testing will involve rubbing whatever they want to eat on their arms, then gums, for a reaction. After that, small portions, before they determine it’s actually safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of which will hopefully be useless when they find town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They split up. Keith stays where the small river feeds into the pond, using the filters from their pack to further clean the water. Then he fills their cantines and digs through their supplies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have some rope, the rations, a first-aid kit, tarps, tie-downs, a flashlight, and a few tools. The rope and Keith’s knife will be plenty to set up a couple of snares, and the tarps will be good for starting shelter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That settled, Keith collects some promising branches and sits himself down at the edge of the pond. He takes great pleasure in knowing the back of his uniform is getting muddy. It looks better than the awful orange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he gets to work carving the stakes for his snares.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about half an hour, Keith deeply regrets the division of labor. Filtering water is easy and cutting up sticks is satisfying. But Shiro is under the cover of trees, while Keith is being baked. This close to summer, the sun is oppressive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One would think an academy set in a desert would have a greater appreciation for sunscreen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he finishes, Keith’s hands ache. He occasionally practices with his knife, but he almost never uses it for something like carving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he prepares to get up and set the traps, crunching footsteps come from the forest. Shiro steps his way out. His hands are full of berries, stems, and roots. There’s a pout on his face and leaves stuck in his bangs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noticing his gaze, Shiro huffs. “It’s harder to stay out of the way of branches when your hands are full. Can you put down my jacket for these?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith obligingly pulls it out so Shiro can dump his supplies. He rolls up his undershirt high enough to completely expose his cuffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to do two at a time to keep track of which spots react,” Shiro says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a good plan, so Keith nods. “I can test some too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro waves him off. “You’ll do better with the traps, I think. And we have time to test these out before we’re in need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s true enough. “You’ll be good here yourself for a bit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s head snaps up as he scowls. It’s playful, but there’s real annoyance in his eyes. “I’m here for the same class you are. I can manage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” It’s not that Shiro isn’t competent. It’s that he’s not comfortable. But neither of them are supposed to be. That’s the exam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It just happens that Keith is a weirdo feral child. He accepts that about himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro will be fine, so Keith heads out. Setting up the traps near such a nice source of water is good - more animals will be around. Keith sets up as many snares as he can manage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now all Keith can do is wait. He’ll check later - probably in the morning. The sun is starting to dip toward the tops of the trees. Given the time of year, it’s definitely dinner or later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith dusts off his hands of dirt as best he can, ignoring how filthy his uniform pants are. He has no trouble finding his way back. Even without his sense of direction, his hearing is good enough to pick up the sounds from the pond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s also easy to spot Shiro, but for a different reason. In the time Keith was gone, Shiro has apparently finished up his testing and moved onto shelter. One of the tarps has been draped between trees, creating an angled lean-to. In front there is a contained fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives a cheery little wave from underneath. His forearms are still exposed for testing. As Keith watches, his expression turns to a scowl as he swats the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The downside to staying near water and building a fire: bugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith joins him and settles under the shelter. The skies have been clear all day, but that doesn’t mean it can’t start raining overnight. Plus, there’s a comfort to having a roof, even if it’s a tarp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything good?” Shiro asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods. “As set up as we can be. I’ll check tomorrow and see if we caught anything. If not, we can try fishing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Assuming we’re not heading to town.” Shiro sets his jaw as he again swipes at a mosquito.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods rather than disagree, because it might well be true. And if it’s not, ‘I told you so’ isn’t going to make Shiro any happier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d testing go?” Keith inclines his head toward Shiro’s jacket, still laden with plant bits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro holds out both forearms for Keith to see. His hands are completely still, despite the occasional shocks Keith knows the cuffs create.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The skin is mostly clear. There are only a few red spots, two on the left and one on the right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B+,” Shiro says. For Keith, that would be fine, especially when there aren’t actual letter grades. For Shiro, it’s clearly frustrating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nerd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you get to gum testing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes his head. “No, I’m still waiting on the last two. But it’s been twenty minutes and I don’t see anything, so we’re probably fine. Gum test can be after dinner. I’d rather not eat while my mouth has a reaction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a fair point. “It’d be funny to hear you talk through it, though.” Keith knocks their shoulders together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knocks back, harder. “For that, you can cook.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith snorts, because ‘cooking’ involves pouring water over the dried and powdered meal packets. But he obligingly pulls them out of their pack. “Which sounds worse? Chili or chicken chunks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s nose crinkles. “Chicken chunks, ugh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” Keith obligingly tosses that one to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro scowls but rips open the top. The playful anger drops away as he looks up at the sky. “Sundown’s close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Keith agrees. He pours some of the filtered water into his packet, then hands it off to Shiro. “Fire won’t be super necessary tonight, I think. We can take turns watching and keeping it up, or just both sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro considers that as he swirls the packet, trying to mix it somewhat. Keith doesn’t bother, using another splash of water to clean off his hand before mixing with a finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to keep it going,” Shiro says. “Predators. Or we’ll get lucky and some camper will be wandering around federal forests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Always possible, though not really likely. Keith shrugs. “Sure.” They won’t be able to do much with the sun down anyway. That leaves them over 10 hours of time in their ‘tent’. Plenty for them to both sleep, even trading off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tilts the packet into his mouth and chews, then makes a face. Considering he finds commissary food tolerable, disgusting him is a high bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The chunks?” Keith asks, grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The chunks,” Shiro agrees grimly. He gives a full body shudder before taking another bite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit in comfortable silence after that, both lost in thought. There’s plenty to keep track of. Food is a big one: Do they eat their supplied meals now, or live off the land? Keith would prefer the latter, but it’s silly if they do get out in the next few days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shelter is another. The tarp is fine for a night like this, but they’ll sleep better and more safely if they manage a raised floor. That’s a lot of effort, though, especially if they plan on moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>These are the questions Keith likes, though. He’d rather a test like this than have to recite the year humans first began mining the asteroid belt. It’s useful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro finally finishes the last of his meal, taking a huge swig of water at the end. Then he offers the canteen to Keith. “I’ll fill this up before it gets dark. Want the rest?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes it and chugs the last few gulps. “Thanks.” He hands it back. “After, we can look for a town.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Shiro’s expression lightens. “Yeah, good plan. It’ll be well and truly dark in a bit.” He hops to his feet and heads off, a new spring in his step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches him go with open amusement. He’s glad Shiro is in good spirits for now. But the moment they have to just survive for two weeks, his sense of humor is going to get dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s going to be cannibalism jokes. Keith just knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Shiro refills their water supply, Keith takes a slow lap around the pond, keeping an eye on the trees. He wants one with low branches but sturdy enough to be climbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Shiro finishes up, Keith has a good contender. He waits at the base until Shiro comes jogging up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good one,” Shiro says, looking up at the tree with clear satisfaction. “Nice distance between the branches, too.” He stops about a dozen feet back and braces himself for a running start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith eyes him and snorts. “You know, I could climb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro openly pouts at him. “No way. This is my favorite part.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he sprints to the tree and leaps, catching the lowest branch. He uses his momentum to easily swing himself up. He keeps that pace, scaling the tree in a matter of minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches, arms crossed and head tilted to the side. He genuinely hadn’t thought Shiro had this particular skill yet. He’d somehow assumed it was from the arena. But apparently Shiro is just secretly a monkey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Shiro gets to a point where the branches bend dangerously under his weight. He holds onto the trunk and stands to his full height, looking over the tree line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From here, he’s difficult to see. Keith mostly looks for the moving branches and the occasional flash of bright orange pants. “How’s it look?” Keith calls up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a long pause. “Hard to tell,” Shiro yells back down. “Nothing so obvious as a city. South might be brighter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s actually promising. North, east, or south means that it’s not leftover light from the sunset, and south is as good a direction to go as any.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem is that Shiro sounds unsure. It could be a trick of the eyes, or it really could be a town. Is it worth chasing, or is it better to stay in place and improve their current situation?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Keith is chewing on that, there’s sudden movement from the top of the tree.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It happens too fast for Keith to fully process. But one moment, Shiro is calmly perched at the top of the tree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next, there’s a barely visible blur of orange and white plummeting down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro!” Keith steps closer, as if that does anything to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he can do is watch as Shiro falls. He hits a branch hard enough to make Keith wince, then slides off and continues to drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has a horrified moment to think that he’s about to watch his best friend die.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except Shiro manages to twist upright and snag onto another branch. The whole thing bows, sending a rain of leaves down onto Keith below. But it holds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro, however, lets out a scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro!” Keith calls again. He gets below Shiro, absurdly hoping he can somehow catch him next time he slides off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lets out a low groan. “Give me... a minute.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he lowers himself down, kicking until he catches the next branch. He repeats the process, gently lowering himself and wincing each time. Unlike his climb up, this is painful and methodical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith paces without taking his eyes off of Shiro. Horror claws in his chest, made worse by every cry as Shiro climbs down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, he’s furious with them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were so stupid. Why hadn’t Shiro used a rope to climb? He could have at least tied himself off. It would have been slower, but they had all fucking night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now all Keith can do is watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sinks down to the next branch, and then the next. He’s visibly shaking, even from Keith’s position on the ground. By now, Keith can see his undershirt is ripped at his side, and there are two long gashes already staining his clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s in the exact same place Haggar sliced Shiro up after their first big confrontation. A wound that nearly killed him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s hands shake and his eyes sting with frustration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Shiro gets to the last branch. He dangles from it, letting out a tiny whimper as his wound is pulled. Then he falls the last couple of feet, landing in a heap next to Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is instantly by his side. “You’re never doing that again,” he hisses out. His hands still shake as he pulls Shiro’s undershirt up and out of the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both wounds bleed horribly. It’s everywhere, staining Shiro’s side, his clothes, Keith’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Keith tries to see how deep the cuts are, Shiro lets out another groan. Keith stills, not wanting to add to Shiro’s pain, but he has to see how bad the damage is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” Shiro breathes out. His voice is lower, rough with pain, but his eyes are clear as they find Keith’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can fix this,” Keith insists. His voice is shaking too. He barely notices - his head is swimming. Panic, he knows. How useless. Why is he panicking now? He could be useful instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s expression softens. He reaches down, though he winces as he does, and puts a hand over Keith’s blood-slick one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” Shiro repeats, still so gentle. “I might not...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meaning is immediately clear. ‘I might not make it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the blood drains out of Keith’s face. “No. We can make bandages. We can clean this. We can...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just listen to me.” Shiro tries to sit up, but Keith braces a hand on his chest. It leaves a bloody handprint right in the middle of his undershirt. “Please. If I don’t make it...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No no no. This isn’t fair. Why does Keith have to listen to this again? Why does the universe want to take Shiro away? Keith needs him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...tell every dog I love them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blinks. Blinks again. Looks up, and finally really sees Shiro’s expression through his worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in pain, yes, and he has that stupid poker face on. But below that is laughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro closes his eyes and clenches his other fist against his breastbone. Now that Keith has cottoned on, a smile cracks through. “My mission is life is unfilled. You need to carry it on for me. Every dog must know that they are good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s mouth falls open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a blaze of furious heat, anger takes over all the worry and grief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You bastard!” Keith shoves him in the chest, ignoring Shiro’s grunt of pain. He fucking deserves it. “You fucking asshole! I watched... I thought...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mischief falls away. His mouth falls open. “Keith, I didn’t mean...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith turns away, rubbing his stinging eyes in the crook of his elbow. He doesn’t want Shiro’s blood on his face if he can help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. Keith, really, I’m okay.” Shiro tries to sit up, then lets out a whimper and falls back. “Mostly okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stills and goes quiet. Finally, he reaches up and squeezes Keith’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, he fucking doesn’t. Yes, Keith nearly went over that cliff once, but it’s not the same. Keith loses Shiro over and over and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro doesn’t know that. As far as he knows, he and Keith are just normal best friends that met at school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand moves to Keith’s hair. He keeps petting, even if the movement has to be hurting him. “You were panicking. I was trying to get you to listen with a joke. It was a bad one. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes a deep breath and nods. Then he takes hold of Shiro’s hand and pulls it away. “Stop before you tear something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worth it,” Shrio says. When Keith glares, he only smiles. “Honest, it is. I’ll be okay. I’m going to bruise to hell, but nothing is broken.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s what Shiro says. Does he even know what a broken bone feels like? What if he’s bleeding out on the inside and they don’t know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith starts to climb to his feet. “I’m going to call it in.” They have the emergency radio in their bag. He can get the Garrison to them in less than an hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Shiro grabs Keith’s wrist, stopping him. “I’m okay. Seriously. We’re already here, let’s get this done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith narrows his eyes at Shiro, who watches him back earnestly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If this is about your fucking perfectionism, I don’t want to hear it.” Keith resists the urge to bear his teeth at Shiro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces and drops his arm. “I don’t want a failure on my record,” he admits, quieter now. His fingers twitch. “That’s not it, anyway. Seriously, let’s just bandage this and let me sleep it off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the morning, Shiro’s probably going to feel worse. Keith hesitates, genuinely not sure if he can trust Shiro’s assessment. This is a teenager with limited life experience, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro is clear-eyed and confident, despite the fact that he’s in pain. He’s been talking and moving, at least somewhat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith really does understand where Shiro’s perfectionism comes from. He has to be perfect, because it’s the only way to make up for what he was born with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of that matters, though, if Shiro goes to sleep and never wakes up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s get settled for the night,” Keith finally says. “Then make a decision.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods agreeably, because he knows the alternative is to call the exam off. “Yeah, good plan. Help me up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between the two of them, they get Shiro onto his feet. He leans heavily onto Keith, but his weight is still light compared to what Keith still privately expects.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Less muscle mass and less metal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They slowly make their way back to camp. Keith leaves Shiro with the recently filled canteen as he sets down the second tarp. It’s more important than ever to keep off the dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro carefully washes his wound, occasionally pausing to wince. By the time Keith is finished, he’s done as well. “First aid kit next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith fetches that. Between the two of them, they do their best to disinfect the gashes. Now, Keith can see that neither of them are too deep. Painful, yes, and probably going to scar. But the blunt trauma of hitting the branch was probably more damaging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blood is still hard to take, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After, Keith helps use their roll of bandages to wrap Shiro’s chest. The undershirt comes off completely for that, but it’s probably the least sexual moment Keith can imagine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty good,” Shiro declares, once they’re done. He holds up his ripped, badly bloodstained shirt with a sigh. “So much for keeping clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be in the woods for days. It’s a lost cause.” Keith nods to Shiro’s abandoned jacket. “But keeping that clean was good. We can make it into bandages if we need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s bottom lip sticks out, clearly not pleased with the idea. But he nods. “Alright, now that we’re finished, I want to wash off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro uses the last of the clean water to wash down one of the anti-inflammatory packets. Then, with Keith’s help, he gets down to the brook and pond meeting point to refill the water and wash off their hands. Shiro valiantly attempts to rinse his shirt, then drapes it on a bush to dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end, dark has well and truly set in. The woods and the night sky are the only sources of light. Shiro is moving more easily and remains confident. If he was bleeding out inside, he’d probably show it by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they can stay. For tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take first watch,” Keith says, settling down next to the fire. “You need sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do too,” Shiro says. He lays on the tarp, but his eyes stay on Keith. “I know you. You have no intention of waking me, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith says nothing, because Shiro has him pegged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck it. Circumstances have changed. We’ll both sleep.” Shiro shrugs. “We don’t have the kind of leftovers to attract bears, if they’re in the area. Wolves and coyotes aren’t likely to bother us either. So it’s not worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All true, technically. Keith hesitates. He’d been planning on staying up so he could monitor Shiro overnight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can do that laying next to Shiro just as well. So Keith knee-walks over and settles down beside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes his sweet time getting comfortable. He shifts, trying to find a position that doesn’t pull on his bandages. “You know what the worst part of falling out of that tree is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That hitting a branch didn’t knock sense into you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro chuckles appreciatively. “Well, that too. But also that I sleep on my left side.” He points to his wounds - also on his left side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s dangerous to encourage him, but Keith chuckles anyway. “Serves you right. Next time, use rope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too slow.” Shiro settles down and finally seems to get comfortable. He closes his eyes and lets out a soft sigh. “Weirdest sleepover yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have weirder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the spirit.” Shiro smiles softly. It fades as he relaxes, drifting off despite the wound on his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith envies that skill. Shiro can get sleep wherever he needs, be that a library desk or a forest floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the fire dies, Keith watches. Shiro’s face is relaxed in the warm light. It’s so different from the last time he had those wounds - he’d been fighting back crippling pain the entire time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It brings to mind the other differences. The lack of a scar. The dark bangs. Rounder cheeks, never made as sharp by the Galra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so young. But Keith nearly lost him anyway. It’s pure, stupid luck that he didn’t fall all the way and die on impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro needs protecting. He needs someone by his side who sees through his bullshit and makes sure he’s cared for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can do that for now. Happily, as long as Shiro lets him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t be there for Kerberos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes a shuddering breath, then lets it out. That’s borrowing trouble from the future. They have years to figure that out. Today, they need to pass this exam, and hopefully not kill Shiro in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s sure Shiro was deeply asleep, Keith reaches out and brushes those dark bangs out of his youthful face. “I need you,” he says, too quiet to wake Shiro. “Take care of yourself better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no reply except for the slow, deep inhale and exhale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith drinks in the sight. Then he turns his eyes to the moon and waits for the fire to die out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It takes three days of recovery before Shiro can walk comfortably for long periods. It’s another four days of hiking south for them to find the town.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Shiro pouts about the exam taking a week when they could have finished in half the time. But he no longer makes jokes about dying, at least for the rest of the semester. Keith counts that as a win.)</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shiro will never, ever regret having Keith stay with him for so much of the summer. It clearly means a lot to him and makes sure he’s taken care of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, though, he wants to apologize for bringing him. Because this summer isn’t going to be much fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time, the pair of them did their part to keep the house clean and running. Since Shiro got his license he could run errands, and he’d always done his fair share of tidying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This summer is different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather is slower than he was 9 months ago. He moves with more care - with more pain. A new cane rests on the wall in his bedroom, stubbornly unused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The timing is suspiciously close to Shiro’s dream. Which means...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which means nothing but coincidences. There is no set date for death, no inevitability that ticks like a clock until the destined moment where it all would end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro refuses to believe that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it does mean responsibility in the house has shifted. Worse, it means that those responsibilities need to be done quickly, because otherwise Shiro’s stubborn bastard of a grandfather will try and do it himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It means less speeder rides to the park and more drives to the grocery store. It means less running off and more time spent vacuuming and dusting. It means less movies after dinner and more doing the dishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of which is fine. Grandfather will rest more. He’ll have a few months off and get better, and Shiro will have fussed over nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s all good by Shiro. But it must suck for Keith. Not only is he missing the friend he came to visit, but he’s losing out on that fun himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is how Shiro ends up washing dishes after dinner, swallowing back guilt as Keith stands next to him, drying whatever Shiro hands over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can finish up from here,” Shiro says. He doubts his casual offer will work, just like every other attempt, but he has to at least try. He didn’t invite Keith over to put him to work. “If you want, you can head up and start a movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith glances at him from the corner of his eye, not pausing drying for a moment. “It’ll go faster if I help, and then we can both pick something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces. He ducks his head and scrubs harder at the bottom of the pot. “Actually, I need to vacuum tonight before I can hang out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday morning is always when Grandfather cleans (bright and early, just in case Shiro has any silly ideas of sleeping in). Shiro put off vacuuming for homework and Keith, but now it has to get done, or else Grandfather will do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Keith says. He takes the pot as soon as it’s rinsed and works on it next. “I could dust?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s chest tightens with a mix of gratitude and guilt. He appreciates so much that Keith is game to help, even when it’s not fun. But it’s really not his job. He’s a guest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not really a two man job,” Shiro says instead. “I’ll be done pretty quickly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bites his bottom lip and sets the pot aside. “I could vacuum, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nearly drops the plate he just picked up. “What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s ridiculous about it?” Keith shoots back. He sets down the drying cloth and crosses his arms. “It seems like the least I can do, considering you two are putting me up for so long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mouth falls open. “We’re not- you don’t have to earn your stay. You’re a guest. You were invited.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For weeks at a time? Months?” Keith’s jaw sets and he plants his feet. It’s a familiar posture - when Keith gets stubborn, he stands like he’s about to be in a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wishes he could find whoever taught him that and shake them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he turns off the water and faces Keith. “Hey, listen to me. You never need to earn your keep here, okay? You’re welcome as long as you want to stay. It’s worth having you just because you’re my friend and I like your company. Okay?.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith opens his mouth, then ducks his head. His throat works as he swallows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks away, giving him privacy to work through whatever is going through his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Keith says. From his tone, he probably doesn’t fully believe Shiro’s words. But at least he heard them.”I don’t have to. But I don’t want to sit around and wait for you, either. I want to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitating, Shiro turns the plate in his hand. The suds follow gravity, leaving wavy trails as they move. “It’s just chores. It’s really boring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have more fun doing chores with you than sitting around in your room without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro can’t help the tiny smile that forces onto his face. It’s still wrong to put Keith to work, especially how he’s been treated, but he also understands Keith’s point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t mind dusting, I’d appreciate the help,” Shiro finally says, barely louder than a whisper. He’s so weak, but he just can’t deny Keith what he wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods and turns the water back on for Shiro. When the plate is rinsed, he takes it and calmly dries it off. He says nothing, but he radiates pride and satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is so, so fucking weak. He’d make far worse decisions just to make Keith happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they finish, Shiro goes to the closet and fishes out the vacuum. It’s one of the hideous old-fashioned sorts that requires being physically pushed and pulled over the carpet. Grandfather insists it gives a better clean than an automated cleaning bot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next, he digs out a dust attracting cloth and tosses it to Keith. He catches it out of the air, confident as if they’d done this dozens of times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anywhere I should skip or be careful of?” Keith asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The frames are easy to knock over.” Shiro nods to the set on the mantle. They’re all ancient, the colors faded from sunlight. He’s been told the great-whatever relatives they depict, but he wouldn’t be able to repeat it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods his understanding and gets to work, carefully dusting around the frames. He occasionally pauses to peer into them. Shiro can’t say what he finds so interesting, but he’s not about to comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Shiro turns on the vacuum and gets to work. Given the carpet is cleaned every week, there’s not too much accumulated dust or hair. Shiro focuses on making sure he gets each corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they work, heavy, slow footsteps approach. Shiro’s shoulders are set and he braces himself. Those slow, pained steps prove he’s right to take on this work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That determination is tested as Grandfather steps into the living room. He’s never had a serious temper, but his lips are pressed thin and his eyes are dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Takashi,” Grandfather says, each word tight. “This is a bit early. Tomorrow is cleaning day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just getting ahead,” Shiro says, voice louder to be heard over the vacuum. Another downside to the outdated monstrosity is that it’s noisy as hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather puts his hands on his hips. His eyes narrow as he watches Shiro work, as if cleaning is a challenge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He might not be wrong.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you rather spend time with Keith? He came over to see you.” Grandfather’s voice gets darker, more pointed. Shiro’s head bows automatically, his stomach squirming. That tone always makes him guilty, just from association as a child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith clears his throat. “He is,” he says, chin up and eyes bright. “Spending time with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather whirls, only now spotting Keith in the corner next to the doorway. His mouth falls open, and then he turns to Shiro. His expression is thunderous. “Takashi. Let’s speak in my room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, now Shiro’s in deep shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Shiro turns off the vacuum, Keith shifts from foot to foot. He can tell the atmosphere has changed, even if he might not know why. “I can finish-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely not,” Grandfather says, voice unyielding as stone. “I just need to speak with my grandson.” He turns and walks out, each step carefully measured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shoots Keith an apologetic look, embarrassed that he’s witnessing yet another family argument. Then he scurries off after his grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the door to Grandfather’s room closes, Shiro is pinned under a dark glare. “I hope you know this is not how we treat guests in this household.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces, because he still agrees. “I tried to get him to stay in my room. He didn’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A polite offer is no reason to be rude, Takashi!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a polite offer. It was worse than that - it was guilt, and Keith feeling like he needs to prove he’s worthy to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wraps his arms around his stomach. He feels small and young under that disapproving gaze. Like he’d skipped his stretches yet again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” he finally says, head down. “I’m sorry, Grandfather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, Grandfather sits down on the foot of his bed. The simple movement takes him twice as long as it used to, and he visibly bites back a groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feet away, his cane rests against the wall, unused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is bad enough that you have cut me out of caring for my own home,” Grandfather continues. “It is unacceptable for you to encourage your friend to do so as well.” He speaks slowly, forcing out each word from behind clenched teeth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces. He understands, deeply, that his Grandfather doesn’t like to be treated as fragile. But including Keith has made it worse: now, he’s humiliated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What else is Shiro supposed to do? “I want to help,” Shiro says. He hates that his voice gets quieter and weaker. He knows this is right. Why can’t he stand up for that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather sighs, deep and tired. “I’m fine, Takashi. I’m getting older. I’m slowing down. That doesn’t mean I can’t take care of my own home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s more than that. Shiro knows it is. But he has no justification for that knowledge, because his Grandfather won’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He just wants to make sure his Grandfather is okay. He wants him to rest, and to get better, and to live. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro finally has empathy for the way his Grandfather and doctors had tried to get Shiro to slow down. He’s hated that for the better part of a decade, and now he’s here doing the same thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could just take some time off to rest,” Shiro says, his voice getting even smaller. “I can do the chores while I’m home. It’s no struggle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And when you go back to school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro glances up through his bangs. “Well, if you still don’t feel well, there are...” His voice cracks. “There are facilities-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather stands again, this time to his full height. Despite being a solid inch or two shorter than Shiro, he manages to look down his nose at him. “I will not be taken from my home!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not fair. Why is this so hard? Why can’t Shiro make this better?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ducking his head, Shiro swallows around the painful lump in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a sigh above him. Then a warm hand settles on Shiro’s cheek. He jumps, startled by the contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather’s hand is rough but gentle. For all his life, Shiro has felt like his grandfather’s hands are huge. Now, he suddenly realizes they’re smaller than his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Have they always been that way for long, and Shiro just never noticed? Has he gotten smaller?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does this worry you so badly, Takashi?” Grandfather asks. His eyes search Shiro’s. “I’m an old man. I move slowly now. That’s how it works. Why are you so affected?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because this time was supposed to be different. Because Shiro can’t accept that the future is a series of losses and pain he has to survive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t lose you,” Shiro admits, his voice small. The words of a little boy, shuffled off to another country with a suitcase in one hand and a stuffed dog in the other. He hadn’t yet understood why he couldn’t just go home to his mother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather’s breath catches. He doesn’t bring Shiro in for a hug - that’s not how they are - but his hand presses in more firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going anywhere,” Grandfather says, painfully gentle. “I won’t leave you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a promise no one can keep. Shiro knows that better than most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wants so badly to believe. So Shiro nods and puts his hand over his grandfather’s, squeezing back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let you do more,” Shiro finally says. “If you promise me one thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather sighs, clearly unhappy to bargain for his own chores. “Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Use the cane.” When Grandfather opens his mouth to argue, Shiro charges on. “You’ve said to me the doctors don’t give out instructions for no reason. I do my stretches and wear my cuffs. You need to do the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snorting, Grandfather frowns at the cane. “I don’t need-” He pauses, then sighs. “Alright. I’ll agree to that. I suppose it’s only fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’ll be enough. Maybe this is the one battle Shiro needs to win.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doubts it. But he wants to believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because if he has the foreknowledge of what’s coming and doesn’t fix it, then Grandfather’s death will be Shiro’s fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Shiro says, heartfelt as he can manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather smiles thinly and pats his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Takashi. Now go entertain your friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Throat still tight, Shiro nods rather than speak. Part of him wants to throw himself at his grandfather. Let the whole crazy story spill out. Beg him to seek care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the dreams are as wrong as they are right. And even if he said he dreamt Grandfather would die during Shiro’s next finals, who would that really convince?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he swallows hard. “I will.” He opens his mouth to say something: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I love you, I need you alive, I want you to see me off to my first mission.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, Shiro only nods to his grandfather and slips out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has already put away the vacuum and dust cloth. When Shiro comes out, he puts a hand in the middle of his back. Without a word, he guides them both to Shiro’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Shiro sits heavily on his bed, Keith picks out a movie without being asked. He finds something lighthearted and lets it play, then settles down shoulder-to-shoulder with Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say a word. There are no platitudes. Keith doesn’t tell Shiro that his grandfather loves him, or that he’ll be fine, or that everything’ll be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is so, so incredibly grateful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they turn off the light and settle into bed, Shiro finally finds his voice again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the dark, Shiro knows Keith smiles. “You’d do the same for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro can’t imagine having the strength for that right now, not when he wants to tremble until his atoms break apart. But he takes Keith’s word for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a long time for Shiro to fall asleep. But Keith’s steady, deep breathing so close keeps Shiro from feeling too alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The summer passes in a blur. Keith does his best to help Shiro balance between helping his grandfather without becoming smothering. It’s a painful dance that leaves no one satisfied. All Keith can do is hang on and be ready when Shiro needs him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all that, the summer is still one of the best Keith’s ever had. He feels guilty for that, enjoying the stability of the Shirogane household while both of them are struggling so badly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even while both of them are in pain, their home is still more welcoming and stable than any other Keith has known since he lost his father. Shiro and his grandfather’s arguments never make Keith fear he’ll be thrown out or punished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That simple security seeps into Keith’s bones. He’s not afraid to drag Shiro out of the house to get fresh air or just enjoy himself. He’s not afraid to buck Mr. Shirogane’s displeasure if Shiro desperately needs something constructive to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It also gives Keith distance from his own homelife. Between the Garrison and the Shiroganes’, he’s barely been ‘home’ for the past two years. His guardians make no fuss over that, and Keith doesn’t miss them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he thinks about it, though, Keith’s stomach burns. Before this summer, his guardians’ lack of interest was a boon. It meant he was free to do whatever he wanted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Keith finally understands the furious indignation in Shiro’s eyes. Mr. Shirogane wouldn’t want Shiro to go off for most of a year, then leave for the summer too. If there was a good reason he might allow it, but he’d worry and miss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in his life, Keith wonders why that doesn’t apply to him and his guardians.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a new feeling. One that Keith never felt in his memories, either. He tolerated his summers, and then he just never went back when he dropped out. No one objected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except one person would. Shiro would have objected last time too, but he was gone. This time, he’d raise hell. Keith suspects Mr. Shirogane might too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a greater comfort than Keith can ever explain. It’s growth he’s never known, even if it’s painful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why Keith stays by Shiro’s side, doing everything he can to ease his friend’s burden. It’s the least he can do, after everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wishes he has something soothing to say. Words just don’t form for him the way they do for Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, Keith isn’t much of a liar. As much as he wishes he could say ‘Mr. Shirogane will be fine’ or ‘You’re worrying too much’...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The truth is, Mr. Shirogane was gone by the time Keith met Shiro last time. That’s a few years off still, so it doesn’t need to be now. But this might be the beginning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Keith knew how to help, he would. But he has no idea why Mr. Shirogane died last time. It might have been a car accident, or a heart attack, or a slow decline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe helping will change the future. But damn Voltron and damn the universe. Shiro is hurting now, and Keith has never tolerated that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If only he knew what to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he and Shiro leave for the Garrison, Keith still has no answers. Neither does Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s one bright spot. One advantage that can bring a smile to Shiro’s face, even now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s their 3rd year. That means the end of simulation flights, and the beginning of real flight hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their first sets of flights are going to be tandem. They’ll be in old two-person planes, with side-by-side pilot seats. There’s no seat for an engineer, and the officer they fly with will act as communications as they experience their first true flights.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith understands the precautions. He’s seen the number of simulations his classmates have failed. But he still desperately wishes this first flight was solo. He doesn’t want the grading eyes of an instructor on him. He just wants to fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He will eventually. Patience and all that. But now that Keith is so close to the freedom of the skies. Anything between him and solo flights feels all the more choking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cadets all get shuffled out into the early-fall sun, baking in their stuffy, ugly uniforms. ‘Kogane’ lands square in the middle of the alphabetical class list. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith spends the afternoon trying not to bounce on his heels and get scolded. Instead, he mentally curses out all the students in front of him for being incompetent and slowing down the line before his turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The one upside to alphabetical order is that Keith is just ahead of Koplar. It’s extremely petty, and Keith doesn’t care. The asshole hit Shiro. He’s lucky Keith hasn’t tried to push him out a window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they call Keith’s name, he feels like he could melt on the tarmac. Keith glances down the line to give Shiro a grin, and gets a beaming thumbs up in return. Then he climbs into the cockpit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s different to be sitting in a real plane instead of a sim. For one, this older model is far smaller, barely big enough for two people side by side. For another, it has a persistent, acrid taste from the burning fuel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart pounds hard enough that he can feel it in his throat. He greedily drinks in the sight of the dashboard. Childishly, he wants to run his hands over it. Flip all the switches and hit every button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy there, buddy,” the instructor says. His name is... Faulkner, Riker, something like that. Keith honestly can’t recall, and doesn’t know that he cares. “Let’s go through pre-flight before you hyperventilate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It occurs to Keith that this instructor thinks he’s scared. It takes all his self control not to laugh in his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Keith nods and focuses on his pre-flight tasks. He verbally acknowledges good fuel levels, the wind conditions, asks for permission to take off - the works. The whole time, he feels like he’s about to vibrate away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is it. This is the first time, at least in this life, that Keith gets to really fly. Not a sim, not a game, not a hoverbike. A real plane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Riker/Faulkner says, clipping his seatbelt. He’s casual, but there’s satisfaction in his tone: Keith has gotten it all right, and they can go. “Are we clear, Flight Control?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are clear for a cycle,” Flight Control responds. The voice is calm and professional, almost soothing. There’s no sign they’re annoyed by the constant laps the cadets are taking in such hot weather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks forward to getting well acquainted with this voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool. Take her up then, cadet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heart in his throat, Keith does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ancient craft rumbles, the engines roaring at a volume Keith wasn’t expecting even with his memories. A wild grin forces onto his face as the craft begins to move forward. At a button touch, the wings adjust. They pick up speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, with a lurch, they lift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Intellectually, this is nothing compared to flying a lion. But Keith doesn’t care, because it’s happening to him right here, right now. It takes all his control not to let out a gleeful whoop as they surge upward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy on the angle there,” Faulkner/Riker says. “Just because we won’t get pressure sickness doesn’t mean you should test it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reluctantly, Keith lowers the angle. Then, when he gets the nod, he begins to turn left. The wing dips, leaving Keith slanted down from his instructor. He’s careful to keep it a reasonable, wide turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ten minutes it takes to lap the Garrison is disappointingly short. It feels like no time at all before Keith is told to angle them for landing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can’t be sad about it for long, because landing is a whole other process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Computers handle most of the calculations. But it’s still up to Keith to follow them, tilting the nose down and matching the vector. It’s up to him to deploy the flaps and engage the landing gear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s up to Keith to touch the wheels down on the pavement and bring the huge, roaring machine to a stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end, Keith is grinning like a loon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well done, kid. You’re a natural.” Whats-his-name gives Keith a firm pat on the back. “Here’s hoping we get more like you. Makes my life easier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got at least one more,” Keith tells him. He’s still smiling when he hops out. Each step feels like he’s walking on air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith catches Shiro’s eyes and gives him two thumbs up. He gets a proud smile in return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Keith steps back in line, he mutters to Koplar. “Bet you throw up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t all have so much practice keeping down our gag reflex,” Koplar shoots back, just as darkly. Then he’s off before he can say more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s high lasts through the next several cadets. But even the joy of flying can’t disguise how terrible it is to stand out on the pavement in heat, wearing a full uniform, and doing nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a good thing they all get two sets of uniforms. The entire class is going to soak through their jackets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Shiro is up. He glances over his shoulder at Keith and gives a flash of a smile, then sets his jaw as he heads into the plane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only then does Keith remember that first month of classes. It had been so long ago, but Shiro had crashed over and over. Because the simulation felt too real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surely, Shiro has conquered that fear. It hasn’t come up again, and he’s driven both speeders and hoverbikes, with and without passengers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Keith finds himself biting his bottom lip. Shiro is more than capable. He can do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The minutes tick on. Keith’s pre-flight checks took almost no time at all, but Keith feels like each individual second takes another hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the flaps shift and the plane starts to creep forward. It hits speed, then lifts up. In moments, it’s a tiny speck above them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to tell from the ground. But angle of ascension and the radius of the turn all look goddamn textbook.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith only hopes that it’s Shiro flying, and his nerves haven’t resorted to the instructor taking over. It’ll be difficult to talk him back into confidence if his control gets taken away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plane lands, smooth as silk. Moments later, Shiro emerges. His hair is wild, like he just shook it out, and his smile could light up Platu City all by itself. He catches Keith’s gaze and straightens up in obvious pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank fuck. Keith grins back, giddy anew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Shiro, the last few candidates go. Poor Adam is dead last, and he’s sodden by the time he climbs into the plane. It has to be a relief just to get into the air conditioning. He also takes a moment to get up and lap around, but his landing is picture perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sends him an equally enthusiastic smile to the one he’d given Keith, and Keith offers him a respectful nod. Adam doesn’t do anything as open as grin, but his nod back is pure satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, finally, they’re let back into the Garrison and given a quick debriefing, then let loose. Most of the cadets head towards their rooms or the showers to get clean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An arm catches Keith around the shoulders. He nearly jumps out of his skin, but calms when he realizes it’s Shiro. It’s unusually public of his affection, but Shiro’s still clearly on top of the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam follows after, only a step behind him. But from the way he eyes Shiro’s arm around Keith, he’d rather die than get the same treatment. Fair enough, considering how overheated he must be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’d it go?” Shiro asks, giving Keith a gentle shake from side to side. “What did Fokker say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, Fokker, that was it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It went fine.” Under Shiro’s enthusiastic stare, though, Keith can’t help puff out his chest. “He said I was a natural and I made his job easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyone in class could have told you that,” Adam says. He unbuttons his jacket and lets it hang open to cool down. “Well done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you, Adam?” Shiro turns that megawatt smile onto Adam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam rubs the back of his neck and makes a face at the sweat he finds there. “It was good. It would have been better if I’d realized how noisy those old models are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely,” Shiro says. He lets go of Keith, but gives his hair a ruffle as he does. “I expect that from the historical models. But those aren’t that old. Amazing, how far engines have come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pats his hair back into place, because it feels like some large creature licked the back of his head. “How’d yours go, Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About the same,” Shiro says, which is his way of waving off his success. When Keith’s elbow hits his side, he grins and ducks his head. “It was great. We got to fly!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s smile softens into maybe the gentlest expression Keith has ever seen on his face. “We did. And we get to do that for the rest of our lives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s stomach flips as he looks over Adam’s pleased expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’ll be a damn long time, if Keith has anything to say about it. He just needs to figure out how, without ruining the universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes flicker to Adam as well. His smile fades and his shoulders slump as if they’ve gotten heavier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any mention of lives right now must remind him of his grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Keith says, picking up the pace of his steps. “There won’t be any more flights if we die of dehydration.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam makes a grumpy noise as he nods. “It’s criminal that they don’t even let us bring out water bottles. If someone passed out from heat stroke and sued them it would be their own fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s impassioned rant on cadet safety lasts until they split for their rooms. As Shiro passes, Keith gives him one last nudge to the side, then shoots him a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro returns it, expression soft. His easy confidence fades, replaced with awe. Then he ducks away down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches him go, then moves into his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There will be so many more flights in the future that this giddiness will be silly in hindsight. But right now, Keith wants to luxuriate in the feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That and take a damn shower.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jab. Block. Side kick. Dodge. Roll. Spin kick. Jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro falls into the rhythm of the fight. There’s a musical quality to a simple spar, synchronized and responsive like a freestyle duet. A song made of sharp exhales, heavy footfalls, and the snap of clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Shiro doesn’t have the advantage of experience anymore, he’s significantly taller. He’d be heavier, too, except Keith has an absurd density to him that defies his actual size.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Uppercut. Block. Arm lock. Elbow jab. Impact. Feint. Impact. Leg sweep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith grunts as his back hits the mat. Shiro follows, throwing his bulk over Keith. Shiro gets his upper arm across both of Keith’s shoulders, pinning him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Growling, Keith plants his feet and bucks his whole upper body. They both lift half a foot, then crash back down. Shiro twists their legs together so he can’t be shaken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since his hands are free, Keith takes advantage of Shiro’s locked position to jab his knuckles into his side. Shiro’s attempts to snatch either of his hands get nowhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs a distraction. Keith is tense, prepared for another blow while he’s pinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro does what he won’t expect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Matt asked if I want to be fuckbuddies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes in place, his mouth open. “He- Matt- What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he’s still, Shiro gives up his leverage arm and instead snags both of Keith’s wrists. He pins them over his head, flopping his weight down over Keith’s chest and stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is still staring at him, utter shock mixed with something darker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Shiro feels bad. Keith had admitted years ago that he ‘didn’t see people like that’. His lack of interest in anyone has backed that up. All signs point to Keith not being interested in romance or sex. It’s a little mean to use that against him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kidding,” Shiro says. He squeezes Keith’s shoulder. “Got your guard down, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s expression twists in open disgust. “Ugh! Don’t make me imagine that. Gross.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brows up, Shiro shoves away the flicker of hurt pride. He knows Keith isn’t interested in him. It’s never been said, but ‘brotherly’ is probably the word yet again. Keith is acting accordingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it stings that Keith is so grossed out by even the mention of Shiro having sex. Shiro works hard at being seen as attractive, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sorry.” Shiro arches a brow down at him and gives his best cocky smirk. It won’t have the effect Shiro wants, but it’ll be infuriating instead. “Do you yield?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bares his teeth and snaps at the open air. He bucks again, until his face goes red from the strain. Then he jerks violently from side to side to try and squirm away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Practiced at this, Shiro rides Keith’s movements. Occasionally his grip threatens to slip, but never quite enough for Keith to get away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yield,” Shiro repeats, lowering his voice. He ducks his head closer, so they’re only inches apart. They’re flush together, from chest to toes (or, rather, Shiro’s knees).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is physically hot from exertion and his muscles are firm where they strain against Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Shiro memorizes the feeling... well, it doesn’t have to mean anything. He can lie to himself and say it’s not Keith. Just a body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those lies fall apart at night. But that’s Shiro’s problem, and no one has to know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Keith slumps back. His jaw sets in a way other people call ‘surly’, and Shiro just calls ‘pouty.’ “Fine. I yield.” His cheeks are pink, no doubt with the sting of loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Easy as that, Shiro rolls off of Keith. “That’s 2 for me, 1 for you. Water break?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Keith coughs, as if Shiro’s girth was affecting his breathing. His cheeks are still pink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro heads to the cubbies on the wall and gets out both their water bottles. There’s a swagger to his step, because each win against Keith is hard earned. He’s allowed to brag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a swig from his water bottle, Shiro tosses the other to Keith, who easily catches it. Keith pops the cap with his teeth, then holds the whole thing straight up to take huge gulps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks away from his exposed, pale neck. Like he’s a flustered regency era protagonist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why Matt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Shiro focuses again and sits down next to Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s head turns to follow him. He taps thoughtfully against the side of the water bottle. “Why’d you pick Matt to distract me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brows up, Shiro regards him. “I was pretty sure it would gross you out more.” And it felt mean to pick Adam, all things considered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Keith considers that, cocking his head. “I don’t think it’s that weird. At least you guys are friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods thoughtfully. “Okay, Koplar next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh!” Keith presses his face to his water bottle, hiding behind it. “Don’t even joke about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mischief bubbles up in Shiro. He holds a hand to his cheek like he’s about to swoon. “I don’t know, maybe it’s all a misunderstanding, like a movie. Or maybe he’s a bad boy and I can fix him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a choked noise and kicks out, catching Shiro in the thigh. It’s a hard hit, but Shiro only laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” Keith says, his entire face twisted in disgust. “That’s not even a little funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agree to disagree. Your reaction is extremely funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sticks out his tongue and flops onto his back. The hand without the water bottle flops out by his side as he stares up at the ceiling. “Do you want to, though?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck Koplar? Not really.” Shiro pauses, then ads, “I don’t think he’d be very good at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Keith’s entire face screws up. “Not that. In general, though. Fuckbuddies. Or a one night stand. Or anything like that. Like when Adam stayed in the city after his birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. Shiro brings his knees to his chest and rests his chin on top. “I understand the appeal. But no, not really. It feels like a waste of time, you know?” He idly taps against a cuff, hidden below his sweatshirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes lock onto the movement. “Even if it would be fun and make you happy?” His voice gentles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinding his teeth, Shiro looks away and reminds himself it isn’t pity he hears. Keith has never pitied him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be happy for a night, sure. Or I can work toward a relationship or the Garrison and be happier for longer. I don’t want something fragile.” Shiro can’t help but search Keith’s face for any kind of reaction. “What about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith heaves a huge shrug, though it’s awkward against the mat. “It’s never been my thing. Besides, I’m bad enough at being a friend. Being someone’s boyfriend would be way worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mouth falls open. He unravels and leans over Keith to frown down at him. “You’re a great friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To you, maybe,” Keith acknowledges. “But I’m really weird around everyone else.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stomach dropping, Shiro searches Keith’s face for a sign of a joke. He doesn’t find it. “No, you’re not. At least, not in any way that matters. You’re there for people, and you defend them or build them up when they need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs again. “I’m not funny or good to talk to, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith...” Shiro places a hand on Keith’s chest, trying to convey his seriousness through sheer contact. “People misjudge you sometimes. That’s on them. It doesn’t make you a bad friend. I can’t tell you how much you helped me this summer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A blush stains over Keith’s cheeks. “All I did was sit around with you and help with some chores. It’s no big deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s exactly what I needed. And more than almost anyone else would have done. You didn’t have to stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares at Shiro, uncomprehending. “You were hurting. Where else was I supposed to be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jabbing him in the chest, Shiro nods. “That’s why you’re a good friend. And why anyone would be lucky to have you as a boyfriend, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blush deepens. Keith squirms, like the mushy conversation is making him want to flee. If he tries, Shiro will let him, but he’s going to say his piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Keith rubs over his face, probably to try and hide the blush. “You’ll make someone happy too someday, Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For a limited time, sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes flash as he kicks out again. This time, his heel catches Shiro in the hip with enough force to make him grunt. “Don’t say that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just being realistic.” When Keith reels back for a second strike, Shiro shifts away and holds up his free hand. “Joking. Joking!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith grumbles and pushes himself up. “I hate your sense of humor, you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m funny, just unappreciated.” Shiro shoves his nose in the air, hands folded primly in his lap. Then he cracks and sends Keith a smile. “Round 4?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rolls to his feet in an unfairly smooth motion. “Yeah, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They set aside their water bottles and begin to circle each other. The duet begins anew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith starts off, stepping in close to Shiro with a series of rapid fire jabs. Shiro knocks away any too close for comfort and steps back, otherwise not retaliating. Instead, he lets Keith expend his energy in a big burst.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem, though, is that Keith is a perpetual energy machine. He continues his assault, dogging at Shiro’s steps until he starts to get glancing blows - to his shoulders, hips, side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has to fight back if only to give himself breathing room. He surges forward, using his longer legs to get past Keith’s guard. One leg steps behind Keith, while Shiro slams his palm into his chest. Keith rotates on the pivot of Shiro’s hip and hits the mat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t last. Keith twists, kicking out in a spin as he turns. Shiro hops the blow, but it costs him time that Keith uses to get up and dart past Shiro’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro turns, trying to get Keith back in his line of sight, but Keith is too fast. Instead Shiro lashes out with an elbow, just to discourage Keith’s next attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fingers brush over Shiro’s elbow, shockingly light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we were fuckbuddies?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s brain skips. The transition from fight to this offer is so unexpected that Shiro can’t process the words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wants to....?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fingers on his elbow shift up and tighten. Keith uses his new grip to kick Shiro’s knees out from behind. Then he twists Shiro’s arm into a painful lock, overextending it and shoving it back into Shiro’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That time you let down your guard,” Keith says brightly. “Do you yield?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bluff. A shock tactic, like Shiro’s comment about Matt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except this one makes Shiro’s heart ache like Keith’s blows bruised it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro reaches back blindly, trying to grab Keith and turn this around. His fingers only catch empty air. Keith shoves down on his shoulder until Shiro grunts in pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I yield,” Shiro bites out, wincing. “Bastard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith lets go of his arm with a chuckle. “Don’t start what you can’t dish out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro only grumbles. It’s true, but this stings far more. To Keith, it was a gross mental image of his friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For one heartbeat, Shiro had hope. Instead, it was a joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling his shoulder, Shiro sighed. “What was that, a minute and a half?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not even.” Keith finally steps around to face Shiro, smirking down at him. His hair is still wild and his confidence makes him glow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no complaining when Shiro was smug just a few minutes ago. But it’s not fair that Keith has to be so hot when he’s won.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think that’s the fastest one of us has gone down so far this year,” Keith continues. He offers Shiro a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes it and rolls his eyes. “Not that you’re rubbing it in or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m totally rubbing it in.” Keith grins, unabashed. He bounces on his toes, cheeks flushed. “Tie-breaker round?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Considering that bout took barely a minute and change, Shiro should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his pride is stung in multiple ways. Honestly, he wants to go hide in his room and lick his wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next time?” Shiro asks. “All the sweat is dried and I feel gross, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Keith blinks, obviously surprised. But he nods. “Sure, yeah. Next time we’ll settle this.” He snags his bottle, then goes to retrieve their bags. He returns and hands off Shiro’s. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Definitely. I just feel like a mess.” Shiro gestures to the back of his head, which is sticking up from their second round.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Keith considers him. “Okay. Just let me know if I should change anything up, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What, like not mentioning they could fuck? Because, yes, that would help, but Shiro can’t say anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he realizes the tension around Keith’s eyes is worry. And that the last move had been an arm lock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no, nothing like that.” Shiro rolls his shoulders so he won’t feel tempted to touch the hidden cuffs. “I don’t hurt. I mean, nothing a hot shower can fix, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods slowly, then tosses his bag over one shoulder. “Okay. See you at dinner, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro waves and watches him go. Once he’s in the hallway, he heaves a heavy sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing worse than getting his ass kicked is doing it to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes his head, because he really is a damn idiot, and makes his way to the showers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The clatter of a plate makes Keith glance up mid-chew. He blinks at the slice of cake, then up to Shiro, who smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Happy birthday,” Shiro says. He sits down next to Keith and sets down his lunch tray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gesture is small, but it still sets off a warm glow in Keith’s chest. The presents and parties or whatever don’t really matter to Keith. He just likes that Shiro cares enough to remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” he says, and pulls the plate closer. It looks like yellow cake, with neon orange icing and bat-shaped sprinkles on top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The decoration hardly screams ‘birthday’, but that’s the unfortunate reality of having a birthday so close to Halloween.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to ask before the rest show up,” Shiro continues, eyeing the lunch line. Adam must have been running late, because he’s near the end, while Matt dallies between the overcooked veggie options like it’s life or death. “Did you still want to go out to celebrate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith crinkles his nose as he takes a bite of cake. Rather than being the oldest in his year, Keith is among the youngest this time around. Everyone else has gone to that same bar as each of them hit 18.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fine. Keith’s more comfortable there than he would have guessed. It helps that it’s more of a hole in the wall to get drinks than an actual party destination. They use it because of limited choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it’s not exactly Keith’s preferred haunt, either. He definitely doesn’t want a big fuss (or to wear that horrible tiara).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to?” Keith finally asks, swallowing his mouthful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro crosses his arms. “It’s your birthday, Keith. You get to choose how to spend it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that’s unfair. “You asked us on your birthday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes his head. “I asked if anyone objected, which is reasonable considering we were risking serious trouble. I’m asking if you want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday is three days away. That gives Keith some time to build himself up to such a social event. And he has to admit, he’s enjoyed the other outings. Especially the first one, where Shiro drunkenly napped on him. That had been pretty cute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, yeah,” Keith finally says, nodding. “If you control Matt. I don’t want any jokes.” If Keith just says no tiara, he doesn’t trust Matt not to get an appropriate gift for the ‘baby of the group.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro holds up a hand solemnly, as if he’s swearing an oath. “I won’t let him. I’m planning it, not him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then yeah.” Keith stirs his overcooked carrots as if that’ll make them more appetizing. He glances once more to make sure they gave a couple of uninterrupted minutes, before he continues. “Can we do something else tonight, though? Just us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stills, then smiles. His eyes are warm and soft. “Of course. What did you have in mind?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did the calculations for that cliff jump, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, the soft look is replaced with fire and a fanged grin. “Yes. Yes, I have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s ridiculous that it’s taken them nearly a year to try this again, but it’s hard for a pair of cadets to get away with hoverbikes. Last time around they’d done this more, but they’d had Shiro’s officer rank to rely on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith’s tired of waiting. He wants to make that jump, and he wants Shiro to have a chance at it, too. Not only is it fun, but it came in damn handy in Keith’s memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cool.” Keith lets it be after that, instead focusing on his cake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments later, Matt flops down across from them, dramatically bemoaning the food quality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, until Shiro says, “I’ll cover the bouncer fee this Friday. How much do you usually give him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt’s eyes light up. “You want to go out?” He perks, then pauses. “Oh, and happy birthday and stuff. Obviously. ‘Grats on being 18, they grow up so fast. But really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” Keith says. “Shiro’s planning it. Not you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt smacks a hand to his chest, gasping as if mortally offended. But he’s easily drawn into a conversation about planning logistics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leaves them to it. Going out will be fun, and he likes how much his friends get into going to the city. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the real birthday gift will be tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Predictably, the rest of the day drags. There’s just no way the monotony of Engineering Basics for the Pilot Track can be anything but a slog compared to what Keith actually wants to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only bright spot is that Shiro is also suffering through those classes. Usually, he’s politely attentive and engaged with the material. Today, Keith can see his ‘note-taking’ looks suspiciously like doodles of planes and cliffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what feels like a week instead of a few hours, they finally they get out into the desert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night sky is gorgeously clear around them. Keith tilts his head up, enjoying the brisk wind. Sand kicks up around them, but Keith is long since used to the sting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next to him, Shiro keeps up at what for them is a lazy cruise. When Keith checks for his position, he’s watching Keith back. He has his goggles pushed to his forehead, pinning his bangs up. His cheeks are flushed with joy, his eyes shining in the moonlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s beautiful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So of course Keith has to zip ahead of him and swerve, sending up a spray of sand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Shiro says in response gets eaten by the wind. But the rev of his hoverbike doesn’t. In seconds, Shiro catches up so they’re neck and neck, playfully jockeying to the side as if he’s going to smack into Keith’s bike.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith postures right back, strongly enough that Shiro zips away automatically. His eyes narrow, and then he guns it, leaving Keith in his wake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously, that won’t do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They tear through the desert, leaving twin sand trails behind them. The sky is full of stars that call to them both, and Shiro’s smile is visible even in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as Keith is concerned, it’s the perfect way to spend his birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them slow as they approach the cliff. If he was on his own, Keith would just gun it. But Shiro’s here, and he wants to do this together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You ready?” Shiro asks. He pulls down his goggles so they actually rest over his eyes. He might be nervous, but it’s damn difficult to tell behind his poker face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods. His stomach rolls and he’s not sure if it’s excitement or nerves. He’s not sure he even knows the difference. “I am. You?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Shiro adjusts his grip and leans forward, resetting his balance. “Who goes first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a wide cliff. We could go together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an added layer of complexity and danger. But, honestly, they’re jumping off cliffs that should kill them on impact. Who cares about one more dangerous element?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s head snaps toward him. Then, slowly, he smiles. Not the fanged look Keith expects before a stupid stunt, but warm and soft. “Yeah. Together. On three?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three.” Keith rests his foot on the pedal, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two.” Shiro stills, like a dog scenting prey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them shoot forward, angled slightly away from each other. They pick up speed for seconds as they shoot toward the sudden, steep drop to near-certain death. Then-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Freefall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith closes his eyes. The wind still whips his hair back, but now it’s starting to fly up instead. His stomach lurches as the fans push up on nothing, and the whole bike begins to sink. It’s the same as missing a step, in the best way possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This should be the moment Keith has regrets. The moment he wonders why he’d risk his life for a single thrill. The moment he doubts himself and his instincts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it isn’t. Instead, Keith smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a few feet away, an engine roars. For the first time, true fear clutches Keith’s heart. That’s too soon. Why is Shiro-?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Weight difference. He needs to start the fans earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes less than half a second for the shock and realization. Then, Keith slams his own pedal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hoverbike comes to life below him, groaning like a wild creature. Keith has a split second to mourn the lack of a lion’s roar before the fans catch the rising ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sudden reverse momentum jolts Keith. He has to strain to keep himself on the bike. He’s still falling fast, but slowing just as quickly, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith lands, uncomfortably heavy but unharmed. The hoverbike bucks under him, still trying to push upward. He lets go of the pedal and lets it coast to a stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dozen feet to the left, Shiro does the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares at his bike, and then lets out a gleeful whoop. His smile is wide and boyish, unbothered by his lack of dignity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopping off, Keith abandons his bike to sprint the distance between them. His heart is pounding, his blood on fire, and he needs to share this giddy energy with the only other person who understands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro meets him halfway there. They crash into each other, chest to chest. Shiro wraps his arms around Keith and swings him in a circle, still cackling like a mad thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did it!” Keith pumps one fist into the air, using the other to hold onto Shiro before he slips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We did!” Shiro continues to spin wildly. When he finally stops, he crushes Keith to his chest. “I can’t believe we did that! It was so stupid!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith laughs back. “It was. And it was awesome!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their raucous laughter and cheers bounce off the cliff behind them, filling the air. It’s just the two of them and the endless, open desert sky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith, still giggling, looks up at Shiro. While he’s being held up, their faces are only a few inches apart. Shiro still wears those goggles that make him look like a fashionable insect, and his face is bright red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s even more beautiful than usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith desperately wants to kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he kicks the air until Shiro sets him down. By now, the burst of adrenaline has worn off, leaving a breathless quality in its place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should head back up,” Shiro says, panting out the words as if he’d climbed down the cliff rather than drove.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods, then considers. He checks his mental map of the desert (they’re pretty close to the lion, and inconveniently placed compared to the Garrison).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a better place for them to go than either of those places.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, there’s somewhere I want to show you.” Keith turns and picks back up his abandoned hoverbike, giving it a shake to get out any sand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro does the same. “Yeah?” He hops on and leans forward, arms crossed over the handles. “Lead the way, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith does. They’re still both singing from that jump, so he does the smart thing and keeps it slow. It’s not as fun, but they’re likely to miscalculate a trick or turn in this state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes a minute for a dark square to appear on the horizon. Shortly after that, he comes close, revealing itself as a run-down little house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically, Keith’s house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith comes to a stop in front of it and takes a deep breath. The air doesn’t actually taste different compared to the cliff, but it settles differently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the only place in the world where Keith slots into place like a puzzle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro slows to a stop next to him. His expression is serious as he looks up and down the building - he’s probably picked up Keith’s mood. “Where are we?” He asks, voice quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My place. At least, it is since Pops...” Keith trails off, wincing. He doesn’t have a problem saying his father is dead, but right now it feels like prodding Shiro’s wounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods slowly. He doesn’t look surprised, but then it’s difficult to get him to look shocked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he absorbs that, Keith parks the hoverbike and pulls out his keys. It takes a moment to get the door open - sand has gathered in the cracks, making it grind. One good hit gets it to creak open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside is musty and dark. There’s no electricity, obviously - Even if it was wired up, Keith can’t pay for it, and there’s no one here to use it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moon outside gives a bit of light. Enough to see the familiar shapes - the ratty couch that desperately needs replacing. The shelves of equipment. The old table with a loose leg. The scratched wall, barely peeking out behind the couch, where Keith carved his name in before Pops stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro steps in slowly. His posture is perfect and his gaze is soft - reverent, even. He reaches up to squeeze Keith’s shoulder. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Keith croaks out. He’s only been here a few times since entering foster homes. No one else could use it, so they weren’t interested in coming out. It’s just been sitting here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to show me around?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith barks out a small laugh and shrugs. “This is kind of it? Here, the bedroom and a bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s basically a shack. Keith has called it that plenty of times, in jest to his father and to stifle anyone else from being interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that didn’t really matter, once. It doesn’t really matter now, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s mine today,” Keith says. His hands slide into his pockets. “For real. It’s always been, but I couldn’t claim it until I was 18.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes cut to him as he squeezes Keith’s shoulder again. “I’m glad you have your own place. But you’re always welcome at mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warmth flickers in Keith’s chest. He leans into the touch. “I know. And you’re welcome here too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, Shiro rocks his hips to the side until they gently knock into Keith’s. “So. Got any good stories?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shrugs. “I mean, you lived here. You and your dad. Seems like a fitting way to spend your 18th birthday, right?” The pale light pouring in through the door catches his eyes, making the grey color a shining silver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is loved. He knows this. It’s maybe not the way his heart sometimes wishes, but it’s obvious anyway. There’s no words to express that, but he doesn’t need to. Shiro has always understood what Keith means.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Keith nods, a smile creeping over his lips. “Yeah. I’ve got a couple. Actually, here.” He moves to the couch and pushes it aside, wincing at the dust and dirt below. It reveals the carved ‘Keiths haus’ on the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro laughs, sudden and powerful, then claps a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I’m not- not at you. It’s cute. But I bet your dad wasn’t happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Keith says, his smile growing. “I was five. I’m not sure if the worst part was the damage to the wall or the misspelling.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts the story, remembering the warmth of the house - both from the sun and from his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sits down on the arm of the couch, despite how gross it is, and listens with open affection. He seems honestly happy just to listen to Keith’s silly childhood stories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many things about Pops’ death are a shame. But one of them is that he never got the chance to meet Shiro. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in the dark, stolen hoverbikes outside, still high off flying off cliffs, Keith thinks Pops would have approved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Maybe not of the activities. But of Shiro. And that’s the part that matters.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Guess who's a day laaate?</p><p>This will update the normal day (so, two days from now) and then continue on as scheduled. Whoops!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shiro drops his duffel onto the floor and collapses back onto the hotel bed. It has that too-tight quality and smells of a cheap, sickly floral detergent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t care though. Because Shiro is thousands of miles away from the Garrison. And he got here by flying. In a plane. With an instructor, yes, but it was Shiro at the controls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting to the east coast is an hour long flight, even in the ancient planes they used for testing cadets. It had been loud enough that Shiro’s ears still ring. The air conditioning was only so-so, and his jacket is a clammy mess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro does. Not. Care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fumbling for his phone, he checks the time. It’s 8pm on the east coast - and most of that time has been post-flight checks, debriefs and getting to the hotel. That makes it 5 back at the Garrison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfect timing. Too late for class, too early for dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro flicks through his contacts for Keith’s number and calls. His right leg bounces against the cheap carpet as energy continues to shock through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Flyboy,” Keith greets, open laughter in his voice. “Seems like you didn’t crash.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro grins at the plain white ceiling. He lowers his voice dramatically. “Is this Keith Kogane? I regret to inform you that Cadet Shirogane never landed. He refuses to. He continued over the Atlantic. Did you have any information about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith barks out a laugh. “Yeah, right. That’d be me, not you.” There’s a distant squeak - he probably sat down on his dorm bed. “Seriously, how’d it go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Shiro replies, now normally. He turns onto his side and brings his knees to his chest, like a giddy child. No one is around to see it, anyway. “Really good. It was amazing, Keith. It was all I could do to focus and not just stare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Keith’s voice softens with awe. No doubt he’d felt the same thing when he’d gone through this training last week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence hangs between them, but it’s not uncomfortable. Shiro nabs one of the pillows to rest on and settles in. He needs to shower before bed, but that can wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s the jet lag treating you?” Keith finally asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro groans, mostly for effect. “It’s so strange. It’s dark here already. I’m not even hungry yet and it’s going to be time for bed soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith chuckles fondly. “Good luck. You have to be up bright and early tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t rub it in. You’re lucky you got the morning shift and you could sleep in your own bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” Keith says smugly. There’s a pause before he continues. “But it’s worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is. It really is.” Shiro smiles again. He wishes Keith was in the room so he could see his warm luck, and Keith could see his excitement in return. They could be on a video call, but Shiro likes this too. It feels quiet. Intimate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sighs and his bed squeaks again. “What time are you supposed to get back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We leave at 8, so we’ll be there at 6 your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to be up at 5?” Keith’s voice cracks with sheer disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro grins. He doesn’t mind as much as most people would, since he’s an early bird. But it’s going to be rough, especially if he can’t get to sleep. “Even earlier than that. We just leave then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes gagging noises. “I take it back. It’s not worth it. Screw this organization and it’s love of insane early mornings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t mean that. It’s worth it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another pause. “Yeah. It’s worth it. And at least you’ll be back early. Please tell me you get to miss morning classes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The debrief will probably take a while,so I’m excused from the first two periods.” That won’t really make up for the lost rest, but that’s okay. Shiro can handle a lack of sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes an insulted noise in the back of his throat. “That’s it? I got out of all my classes. That’s not fair at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll live.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You shouldn’t have to! That’s the point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles softly at the far wall. He can imagine exactly Keith’s scowl and furrowed brow. He’ll start talking more with his hands as he gets impassioned, and his bangs will fall over his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That powerful sense of justice and all his protectiveness. And it’s aimed toward Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro closes his eyes, luxuriating in the warmth the thought creates. He loves just getting to be close to Keith and being part of the elite group he lets in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Shiro blinks, realizing he was just daydreaming while on the phone. “Oh, sorry. I’m a little distracted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tired? Jet lag isn’t going to help you, but you did just fly across the country.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm. My arms are pretty sore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith chokes. “You did not- I hate you. Holy shit. Why are you like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing, Shiro presses his cheek into the pillow, trying to smother a slight blush even if Keith can’t see it. “Because you like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck if I know why, right now.” Keith is no doubt rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blush gets worse. Shiro shouldn’t torture himself like this - of course Keith likes him. They’re friends. It doesn’t mean what his heart wants to hear. Keith doesn’t like anyone in that way, and that’s fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But sometimes it’s just nice to hear the words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m underappreciated in my time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell that to the fawning fucking instructors.” Keith groans, low in the back of his throat. Shiro’s heart catches until he realizes Keith was just stretching out. “If you’re tired, I can go. Were you just checking in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes his head, even if Keith can’t see it. “No, I’m good. All I need is a shower and to get ready for bed. Plenty of time for that. I just wanted to say hi, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “It’s weird, honestly. Having classes without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it is.” Shiro had done it last week, and it was eerie. He kept looking over to share a glance with Keith, only to see an empty desk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be even weirder in the future. When we’re gone for real missions. Days and weeks at a time.” Keith pauses, then sighs. “I guess it won’t be for long. We’ll get used to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart clenches. “Well, then we’ll just have to talk on the phone, won’t we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, every day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we have to.” Shiro’s hands itch to reach out and touch Keith’s shoulder, to reassure him physically. Words aren’t nearly as good, not where Keith is concerned. “And we’ll get used to it. It doesn’t mean we won’t be best friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a slight pause. “I know,” Keith says softly. “It’s just going to be a change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll make it,” Shiro says, with complete confidence. “Our friendship is stronger than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there’s any truth to those dreams at all, Shiro wants it to be this: that their friendship can overcome battles, mind control, a war, and death. Maybe he should let Keith go and save him the pain. But selfishly, Shiro can’t bring himself to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He won’t let Keith fall. Not in this life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Keith says, his voice soft and fond. “You’re right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I usually am,” Shiro says, letting humor soften the otherwise heavy moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith snorts. “That’s what you like everyone to think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such an arrogant jackass.” There’s absolutely no heat to the words. “Alright, go get to bed. You need your beauty sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro makes a grumpy noise. “Are you saying I won’t be pretty anymore?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You willing to risk it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not.” Shiro smiles, toes curling in his boots. It’s a short call, but he’s glad to have talked to Keith. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, Shiro. Safe flying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From one of us? Never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith laughs as he hangs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lays out still, phone to his ear. He imagines doing this on missions, but talking until they’re too tired to keep going. Stretching it out until he hears deep breathing as Keith falls asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He imagines ending a conversation with ‘love you.’ Hearing it back. Knowing it’s meant in the way he craves it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Shiro shoves himself up. “Stop torturing yourself, idiot.” He undresses roughly, half to wake himself from his daydream, and takes a brief shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s in bed, surrounded by the alien sounds of an unfamiliar city, Shiro closes his eyes and remembers the sound of Keith sleeping on the floor of his room. He imagines that, coming from the empty space to his right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise helps him drift to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pauses, his hand up to knock on Shiro’s door, when he hears his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words are in Japanese. After two summers at the Shirogane household, Keith has picked up a few phrases. He catches what Shiro calls his grandfather, ‘sorry’ and ‘please’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although he can’t hear Mr. Shirogane’s voice, Keith can imagine the conversation. There’s only one topic that makes Shiro sound like his chest is being crushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro says his goodbyes, then sighs heavily. After that, he is completely silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hand still up, Keith reevaluates. He hadn’t really had a plan for tonight except getting dinner at the commissary. But unless Shiro gets a distraction, his mood is likely to be low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it is Friday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plan formed, Keith finally knocks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause and some shuffling before the door opens. Shiro peers through and smiles at the sight of Keith. It’s strained, though, obviously taking effort to maintain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s tempting to ask after Mr. Shirogane. But Keith refrains. Shiro doesn’t look like he’s fighting grief, just very tired. He probably got no answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Shiro says, his voice so close to casual that even Keith nearly believes him. “Dinner time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shoves his hands in his pockets. “Yeah. But, uh, actually, I had a thought. It’s Friday, so the bus is going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks, his brows up. “So it is.” He hesitates, then adds, “I’m not sure if I’m in the mood for a bar, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, not there. I just thought it might be nice to eat somewhere better than the Garrison. Maybe a movie, too? It’s been a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hesitates again. His natural reaction when he’s struggling is to handle it in private.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s understandable. Keith has the same instinct. But there’s nothing either of them can do but fret, and Shiro will just work himself into an anxious mess. Better to distract him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s start with dinner,” Shiro finally says. “I don’t even know what movies are out right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me either,” Keith admits freely. He shrugs, unconcerned. “We can pick the worst looking one and just make fun of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, a smile cracks through, curling the corners of Shiro’s lips. “We’ll see,” he allows. “I should change if we’re going out. You too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks down at his uniform and makes a face. Yeah, if he has the choice to wear normal clothes, he’ll take it. “Good plan. Meet you at the bus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hesitates once more, searching for words to ask if Shiro is okay. But the door closes as Shiro goes to change, and he loses his opportunity. Assuming he could have ever used it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he’ll have plenty of chances later, if he can overcome himself to take them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith heads back to his room, pulling on his jeans and a t-shirt. It’s an old one of Shiro’s that they discovered is his size. At the time, it had been funny - Shiro’s pre-Garrison clothes still fit Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now... now he just likes wearing it. It’s soft, obviously well-loved when it was Shiro’s size. The logo on the front is for an old planetarium, and it depicts the curved, star-dotted screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most importantly, it used to belong to Shiro. It doesn’t smell like his room anymore, but Keith still likes to pull it out and toy with the fabric sometimes. The sensation is nice against his fingertips, and it brings back memories of their summers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t really help the wistful longing in Keith’s chest. But it doesn’t make it worse, either, so it’s fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rushes back out, and it’s not until he steps outside into the sunset that he realizes he forgot a jacket. Shit. The bus will be here any minute, so he doesn’t have time to get one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is waiting, a few steps away from the small crowd of cadets and officers. The bus is going to be crowded tonight. It’s close enough to the holidays that many of the passengers are probably shopping for gifts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thorough as always, Shiro has not forgotten his jacket. No, instead he’s wearing that damn leather jacket with the tall collar. It immediately cracks through his Good Boy persona and reminds Keith of stolen hoverbikes and mischievous grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s also unfairly flattering, emphasizing his broad shoulders and stopping just at his tiny waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Shiro gives a short wave and a smile. “I was worried you’d miss the bus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if I’d ever be too slow,” Keith returns. He sides up next to Shiro and tries to re-smoother his wandering thoughts. This isn’t about his stupid crush. It’s about Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It mostly works. As well as it ever does.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes shine fondly as he knocks their shoulders together. “I should know better.” He pauses, looking Keith up and down. His eyes stick to the familiar t-shirt before continuing. “You cold?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not yet, but the sun has barely set. Even so, Keith shrugs. “I’m fine.” It’s nothing he can’t handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro eyes him, but the headlights of the bus approaching cut him off. Instead, they take their place in the forming line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As predicted, the bus fills quickly. Luckily, they manage to find a free row toward the back. Both of them shuffle into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise level rises as the small space fills with excited chatter. Keith slumps in his seat. It’s like a wall of sound is shoving him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro digs into his pocket and pulls out a set of wireless headphones. Annoyance curls in Keith’s stomach, frustrated he didn’t think to do the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro doesn’t use them for his own defense. Instead, he hands one to Keith with a smile. “Any music you’re in the mood for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blinks, then smiles back. Of course Shiro is sharing. That’s just like him. Taking the earbud, he scoots in closer so he can see Shiro’s phone and his music choices. “Not really. Whatever you feel like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Shiro scrolls through his music, then finally picks a song Keith doesn’t recognize. (That’s no surprise: Shiro’s taste in music can charitably be called ‘obscure.’)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The song is acoustic, just one man and his guitar. His voice is impassioned, if unpolished. The volume picks up as he sings about taking chances even if they don’t work out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder Shiro likes this one. It’s extremely on brand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The noise of the bus is still a threatening wave, but the music is a focus and a shield. Automatically, Keith leans over until his other ear flattens against Shiro’s shoulder. It muffles the sounds, letting him focus on the singer and the guitar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Shiro is surprised by the contact, he doesn’t show it. After a moment, his head tilts in turn, resting on top of Keith’s. He seems comfortable like that, and Keith enjoys the warmth of his cheek against his scalp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s... cozy. Comfortable. The contact should make Keith’s heart race, but instead he feels calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have more like this?” Keith asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s cheek shifts, a physical sign of his smile. “Yeah, I have a couple of his albums. He used to sell them at that little cafe right down the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith knows the one he means. He’s never seen anyone perform there, but they’d only gone in the morning when Shiro wanted one of his disgustingly sugary coffees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get most of the way through an album before they reach the city. Keith hands the earbud back with a small smile, which Shiro returns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’ve arrived at the city, Shiro rocks back comfortably on his heels. He’s still a little more subdued than usual, but the ride over seems to have done him good. “So, where did you want to eat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anywhere with real food,” Keith returns, and ignores Shiro’s pout - just because he finds the commissary tolerable doesn’t make it actually decent. “How about the diner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your plan,” Shiro says, but his eyes brighten. “Lead the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The diner is a gaudy joint a couple of blocks from the bus stop. The whole building seems like it’s made of plastic, and none of the individual elements go together - the floor is patterned with white and blue triangles, the tables are checkered, and the walls are covered in various neon signs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s difficult to look at, but the food is good and affordable, and the staff are charmingly irreverent without being actively mean. None of that customer service voice stuff - they’ve seen too much over too many years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith and Shiro pile into a booth, the seats squeaking loudly as they scoot over. Immediately, Shiro starts to stack the creamer cups of non-dairy creamer into a little tower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because he has to, Keith makes like he’s about to poke out the bottom one. Shiro shoots him a pair of puppy dog eyes that clash with his leather jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I do for you boys?” The waitress asks. She hands over a pair of menus, which are completely unnecessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eggs and bacon for me,” Keith says. “Scrambled. And a cup of coffee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waitress writes that down with a nod. “And you, hun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The blueberry pancakes. With a vanilla milkshake.” Shiro takes both of their menus and politely holds them out when the waitress is done writing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gives them a flash of a smile as she takes them. “I hope neither of you plan on sleeping tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro laughs easily. “It’s the weekend. We’re allowed to stay up late.” He flashes his most charming smile, head tilted like he’s mischief and he knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just don’t get into trouble.” The waitress tutts at them, but it’s easy and joking. She heads back behind the counter with a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One she’s gone, Keith eyes Shiro. “You’re the only reason we ever get out of trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro just grins and smiles. “I get us into half that trouble, so it only seems fair.” He rests his cheek on his hand and gives Keith’s shin a gentle kick under the table. “So, what made you want to come out tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘I overheard you being sad and wanted to fix that’ isn’t likely to get a good response, so Keith shrugs. “Dunno. Just felt like a change. It’s nice to be out with just us, rather than with the group.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humming, Shiro nods. “It is. And to go out without drinking. I don’t mind when we do, especially for special occasions, but it’s a shame to only come to the city for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods, as if that was part of his definitely cohesive, not at all made up on the spot reasoning. “Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m happy to come out whenever you want.” Shiro smiles at him. Half of his face is scrunched from how he’s resting on his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Keith says, and he can’t help the way his voice softens. Shiro really would come out just because Keith asked it of him. Honestly, he suspects there’s a lot Shiro would do because Keith wanted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a lot of power to have over a person, especially someone like Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their drinks come. Shiro makes delighted noises over the hideously large milkshake cup he’s handed, piled high with whipped cream and a cherry. Compared to that, Keith’s coffee seems tiny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other hand, coffee isn’t likely to make Keith throw up from sheer sugar overdose, so maybe they’re even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Shiro takes an enthusiastic sip of his milkshake, Keith eyes his creamer tower. “You know I need one of those.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pauses, his cheeks hollowed around the straw - a fact that Keith’s brain decides to fixate on. He pulls back so he can pout. “But it’s so tall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me to drink black coffee?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro continues to pout. But he finally carefully takes the top two and hands it over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening one, Keith rolls his eyes. “I only need one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if you take two, then I have the perfect number for a pyramid instead.” Shiro one-handedly takes apart his tower and starts to set up a triangular base instead. He continues to sip from his milkshake as he works.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shakes his head, but he does use the second creamer as well. He skips the sugar packet to make up for it and just watches Shiro work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s done, Shiro pulls out his phone and starts typing. “Let’s see what movies are playing. That way we can pick a time, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Guess that means he’s on board with a movie after all. Keith suppresses the urge to smile. “Sure, good plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight, the closest movie theater is playing a romantic comedy, two cheesy family movies, some corny blockbuster war movie, and a Christmas-themed horror movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds terrible,” Keith says, leaning over to see the screen. The poster is a snowy field with two tracks and a trail of blood. The movie’s title is on top, in bright red letters: ‘Slay Ride.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s nose crinkles, but he smiles. “It has terrible reviews. And there’s a showing in a little over an hour. That our pick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I said we’ll watch the worst one, I wasn’t thinking that bad.” But when Shiro glances up, Keith smiles back. “Yeah, let’s do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Awesome. I’ll get tickets now. You know, in case Slay Ride sells out. I’m sure it’s a big seller.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we’ll have to get there early to make sure we get great seats.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Shiro is snickering, their food arrives. His eyes go wide with childish delight as he’s handed a plate stacked high with pancakes. Keith takes his as well, stomach rumbling at the savory smells.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both dig in with enthusiasm. Between bites, Shiro piles some of the topping blueberries into a pile on the corner of his plate. “Trade you for half a bacon strip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s acceptable, so Keith clears a portion of his plate. While Shiro scrapes the fruit over, he breaks a piece of bacon in half and sets it on top of Shiro’s pancakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After, they apply themselves to their meals. Keith does wrinkle his nose when Shiro adds yet more syrup and butter to his pancakes, but he’s ignored without issue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s done, Shiro leans back with a sigh. He rests both hands over his stomach, as if it’s about to burst free. “That’s so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s what real food tastes like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sticks out his tongue. “The Garrison has real food too. It’s just not at this level.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Keith nibbles on the last piece of bacon. “I still don’t know how you can defend them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that bad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s basically half-melted plastic in neon colors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro huffs and starts putting back his tower of coffee creamers. “You guys just enjoy shit-talking the food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he’s not wrong. Commissary food is genuinely bad, but it is physically edible. Joking about it is just the only way to deal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s still half as good as Shiro makes it sound, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the waitress comes back over with the check, Shiro fishes out his wallet. “I’ve got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way,” Keith says, diving for his own. He has enough cash for the night, he doesn’t need Shiro to pay. “You paid for tickets. I should pay for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Shiro glances sideways and gives him a small smile. Unlike his attitude all night, some of the pain from earlier shows through. “Seriously. I needed this today. Let me pay, alright? As a thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith still twitches, but settles back without further protest. His pride doesn’t like being coddled, but he can tell Shiro is being sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get this taken care of. Have a good night, boys.” The waitress gives them a last fond smile before heading off again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence holds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro glances over idly, his eyes catching Keith’s. Below the cheer from his good meal, he looks tired. Run down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something in Keith snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard,” he finally admits. “On the phone before we left. How’s your grandfather?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces. He looks away and sighs, heavy and long. “I don’t know. Genuinely. He insists nothing has changed, and maybe it hasn’t. But I know he isn’t telling me everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching over, Keith rests a hand on Shiro’s forearm. It’s tense under his touch. “If he’s well enough to play it off, it can’t be that bad, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure he’d say he was fine until his heart stopped,” Shiro says. His voice is quiet and painfully certain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Has something like this happened before?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. He squeezes Shiro’s arm. “Well, if there’s something going on, you’ll get it out of him eventually. I know how stubborn you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Shiro cracks a little smile. “Unfortunately, I got more than my name from him. He’s just as stubborn as I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Shiro is named after his Grandfather?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not important, so Keith shoves it away. “Well, if he holds out too long, we’ll steal some speeders or a car and go see for ourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s head snaps up, eyes wide. He smiles, like he thinks it’s a joke, but it falls away quickly. Because it isn’t. Keith is dead serious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, he’s stolen a car before. This time would be a much better reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Shiro’s expression softens. “I hope it doesn’t come to that. But thanks.” He puts his hand over Keith’s and squeezes, surprisingly hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The contact isn’t for Keith, not this time. It’s for Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That in mind, Keith flips his hand around and links their fingers. He gives a firm squeeze. “Any time. Just say the word.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The waitress comes back with their check, so Shiro has to let go of their hands. The warmth of his palm lingers like a brand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, it does until they go outside. The cold hits Keith all at once. He still doesn’t regret wearing this particular t-shirt, but he does wish it wasn’t quite so thin. A shiver runs through him and doesn’t stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro eyes him as they step out. Then he pulls off his jacket. Underneath, he’s wearing a henley. Without asking, he drapes the jacket over Keith’s shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Keith insists, but he can’t deny the sheer relief the jacket provides. It’s still warm from Shiro’s body heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro crosses his arms, proving he’s not going to take it back. “I’m okay.” From how tense he is, he’s still cold, but at least he isn’t shivering. “I don’t want you to die before we see the movie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least I’ll get out of seeing Slay Ride.” Keith hesitates, then pulls the jacket on properly. It smells strongly of Shiro and leather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snorting, Shiro knocks their shoulders together. “Looks cute on you,” he says, before heading down the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith follows, but he barely sees the sidewalk. Instead, like a bolt of lightning, he sees them from the outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Going out to the city alone. Getting dinner. Shiro paid. Wearing his jacket. Holding hands. Seeing a movie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this was anyone but the two of them, this would be a date.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tries to shake the thought. Best friends go get dinner together. They go to the movies and pay for each other. None of this is weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the shape of it, now revealed, won’t leave Keith’s head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t fair to think this way. Shiro sees him as a friend. Keith was the one who invited him out in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the jacket...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe this time, things are different? Maybe since Shiro and Adam aren’t together and they’re in the same year, Keith has a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would that change do to the future?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if Shiro could see him that way, what’s stopping him from making a move? They’ve been best friends for two and a half years. Surely, if he had feelings for Keith it would be obvious by now?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking off the thought, Keith puts on a burst of speed to catch up. But he pulls the jacket tighter around him and lets himself pretend, just for a moment, that it could be real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith imagines that during the stupid movie, Shiro puts his arm around Keith. That Keith leans into him until they’re snuggling. That their eyes catch, and they realize they both have the same feelings. Shiro’s palm cups Keith’s cheek as he leans up, and they ki-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blinks, realizing he’d walked past the movie theater during his daydream. Shiro stands behind him now, head cocked and cheeks flushed with the cold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. That’s not reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what is real is pretty damn good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Keith says, heading over. “I got lost in my head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding.” Shiro gives him a fond smile. He puts one large hand between Keith’s shoulder blades, gently leading him toward the ticket counter. “Try not to get lost on the way to the popcorn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hand is warm, even through the jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they get their tickets, Keith takes a deep breath, then lets it go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he can dream.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There have been many, many times in his life where Shiro wished he could pause time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hundreds of moments where a few extra seconds or hours could have made a huge difference. A chance to think through an impulsive decision. Room to take a nap before an exam. A few seconds for the perfect snarky response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s entire life has been racing against a clock. It ticks down, relentlessly fast. His strategy has always been to simply move faster. Achieve more. Be the best and then some.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, as the weeks slip past him, Shiro wants to stop the flow. Press his hands against time itself and hold it back, just for a little while longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dream looms in the back of his mind, a constant shadow at the base of his neck. Shiro has trouble sleeping, trouble concentrating, trouble existing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather still won’t tell him anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is there nothing to tell? Is the dream simply wrong? Or is Grandfather attempting to keep Shiro away from a painful truth? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro holds his phone above his head, reluctant to actually make the call. He dreads speaking to him, hearing all the little signs of decline while being told they don’t exist. Worse, he dreads calling and no one picking up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead he calls Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t find the words,” Shiro says, as soon as Keith answers the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause, then a snort. “Shiro, if you can’t find the right words then I might as well never talk again.” A beat of hesitation. “Is this about your grandfather?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro closes his eyes, hating out his voice cracks on the word. It makes him sound like a child. Like he’s too weak to handle this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he can’t deal with talking to his own grandfather, how is he supposed to handle the Garrison? Or worse, anything at all from his dream?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sighs. “I really wish I had better advice for you. This isn’t exactly a situation I have experience with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Shiro swallows hard. “I guess I’m just putting off the call. If I’m on the phone with you, I can’t dial him up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” There’s a distant squeak - Keith probably shifted on the bed. “Well, it is the weekend. Do you want to steal that car and head out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite himself, a weak chuckle escapes. “It’s not that bad. Give it a month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” Keith sighs. “I don’t really know what you guys have been talking about. Have you been hoping he’d bring it up, or have you been asking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro squirms, feeling pinned by the question. “I ask how he’s feeling. He says he’s fine, and he changes the topic. Or I’ll ask how he’s managing everything and he says it’s the same as always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you don’t really push.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no accusation in Keith’s tone, but Shiro winces anyway. “That’s not really how we work.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have pushed at the start. If Shiro had confronted Grandfather directly and not accepted how he waved Shiro off, maybe they’d have more time to fix this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did he really think a </span>
  <em>
    <span>cane</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going to make everything better?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it,” Keith says, so painfully gentle. “But this is driving you crazy, Shiro. It has been for more than half a year. Maybe it’s time to get some answers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess.” Shiro rubs over his closed eyes and swallows hard. There’s no heat behind his eyes like he’ll cry, but his whole body feels heavy. Like gravity has turned up just over him, trying to shove him down into the bed. The universe itself is trying to pin him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you actually want the answers?” Keith asks, still so gentle. Still so painfully, horribly insightful. Still seeing to the core of Shiro with ease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro barks out a laugh. “I don’t know. Yes? No?” He shoves his head against the pillow. “I want confirmation. But that confirmation might be that he’s sick and there’s just nothing to be done about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What good are these stupid fucking dreams if Shiro is helpless to do anything about it? If they’re real and he can do nothing but hold his head up and walk forward, knowing who will be hurt, who will die, and all the pain that’s coming without any way to change it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sighs again, heavier this time. “At least you’ll know. At least it won’t be a surprise.” His voice lowers, familiar and pained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No doubt he means his own father. Shiro appreciates that Keith is willing to be so vulnerable, to reveal his own pain for Shiro’s comfort and understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead, Shiro thinks of the dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting a call in the early afternoon from a number he didn’t recognize. Ignoring it like any other spam call, until he saw the voice message hours later. Hearing a doctor tell him his grandfather was in the hospital, and he should come as quickly as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How the world had stopped on its axis. Shiro had stared, unseeing, and felt like he was falling off the planet. It couldn’t be true, and yet the proof was still speaking, tinny and unyielding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Shiro manages. He opens his eyes and makes him sit up. “You usually are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell our instructors that. Maybe I can skip exams.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives a wane smile, glad for Keith’s attempt to be cheery. For all he claims to be bad at words, he’s done right by Shiro over and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously,” Shiro says. “Thank you. For talking me up. And sharing.” He hesitates, then adds, “will you come over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s breath catches. “You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro swallows hard and shrugs, even if Keith can’t see it. “It’ll be boring for you. Weird. I know you won’t understand. But I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith helps just by being there. His sheer proximity makes this easier to handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me five,” Keith says, easy as that. He hangs up, and Shiro is left holding the phone, his heart pounding in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes less than five minutes for Keith to knock at the door. Shiro lets him in, then pulls over his desk chair for him to sit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, there’s nothing left to do but call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right as he does, Shiro has the absurd desire to take Keieth’s hand. As if their linked fingers will make this any easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It might, but Shiro has already asked enough of Keith this afternoon.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, Shiro calls home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes two rings for Grandfather to pick up. “Hello, Takashi,” he greets. His tone is calm, but his breathing is heavy. “You’re later than normal. I was worried when you didn’t call on the hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cracks a little smile, as if his grandfather can see it and be reassured. “I’m sorry. I was talking to Keith first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s doing well. Gearing up for exams, just like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a chuckle, raspy and painfully familiar. “Good for you both. How-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. I’m sorry, I need to ask something first.” Shiro takes a deep breath, then slowly lets it out. He can do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next to him, Keith shifts, picking up on his tension. Their knees knock together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It does help.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on, Grandfather?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “Nothing is different from last week. What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro clenches his teeth and knocks his knee back against Keith’s. “Please, Grandfather, you know what I mean. I want to understand what’s happening to you. I can’t stop worrying over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another pause, like Grandfather is trying to figure out how to handle this. “I told you, there’s nothing to be worried about. I’m simply getting old. These things do happen, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it’s that simple, why won’t you tell me about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather snorts. “There’s little to say. You have much more important things to be focused on. You’re in a competitive track.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exactly what he’d been told in the dreams. </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Don’t worry about it, Takashi. I’m just out of breath today. How have your classes been?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he’d been gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Shiro says, and winces when some of the pain leaks into his voice. “Not knowing is more distracting. Please tell me what’s going on.” He hesitates, then adds, “it’s hurting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather goes silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them are ones to admit their pain and struggles. That’s what makes this so fucking difficult.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Grandfather takes a deep breath. “You needn’t have been worrying so much.” Before Shiro can protest, he goes on. “I’m having heart problems. But nothing dire. Just build up in the arteries. Sometimes I have tightness in my chest or I feel out of breath. That’s all. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stills, considering that. “What do the doctors say about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have been taking medicine for my blood pressure. I need to be more careful. If it gets worse there could be surgery. But right now it’s not necessary and the medicine should help.” Grandfather’s voice softens. “I told you, I’m old now. This happens to men my age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro struggles to process that. He sounds so calm, so sure. None of the evasiveness of when he was avoiding the topic. The cane makes sense too, if he’s out of breath easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll tell me if it changes?” Shiro asks. Once again, his voice is small. Childish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Grandfather says. This time, he probably is lying, but it’s a comforting lie, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your medicine has been working?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather pauses again. “Not as much as they hope,” he admits, and the words sound forced out of him. “But the dosage needs to be right, and the changes take time to show. Like your stretches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That makes sense, even if Shiro’s stomach drops. If the treatment isn’t taking...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s not lying. Grandfather genuinely believes it’s just a matter of time until he gets better. Heart conditions are dangerous, but maybe it’s simply coincidental timing. Or the issue was worse in the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Maybe Shiro’s questioning and changes have made a difference. He wants to believe that. He wants to think he did right by at least one person in his life.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Shiro says. “Thank you for telling me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry it’s been affecting you,” Grandfather says, soft and genuine. “I meant to spare you the worry, not make it worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives a small smile. He never doubted that, even at his most frustrated. “I know. But I’m not a child. I do better when you include me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re always my tiny little Takashi,” Grandfather says, a smile in his voice. “I will always do my best to make you happy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro ducks his head, glad that Keith can’t hear the other side of the conversation, even if he could understand it. No one needs to hear </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘tiny little Takashi,’</span>
  </em>
  <span> especially not someone he has a crush on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, the old nickname warms him. On any other day, it’d be mortifying. Right now, it reminds him of when he was young and Grandfather was his infallible savior. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my job,” Grandfather says. “And your job is doing well. How soon until exams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Less than two months, now. And yes, I’m doing my best. There are already study groups getting set up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation continues for a couple more minutes, before it winds down and Shiro is able to say his goodbyes. He feels lighter, now, though his stomach is still in knots. He has his answers, and they’re better than he’d thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, Shiro chooses to trust in those feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Keith asks. He knocks their knees together again, eyes attentive. But his posture is relaxed, so he’s no doubt picked up on Shiro’s mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods. “He says he has a heart condition, but that he’s taking medicine and it’s not serious enough for surgery, yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Keith reaches out and puts his hand on Shiro’s forearm. “Feeling better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The touch is startlingly hot. Shiro looks down at Keith’s hand, then up at his soft expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am,” Shiro says. The earlier warmth feels like it could burst out of him. “Thank you, Keith. For everything. I’m glad you were here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you asked me,” Keith says. He gives the forearm a squeeze. “Want me to go bring dinner here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a kind offer. Keith himself is kind, even if he doesn’t usually describe himself that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles, a little wobbly, but shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. Let’s go together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Keith says, easy as that. He hovers as they head out, but Shiro doesn’t mind. He knows it’s not because Keith thinks he’s fragile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles at him, and hopes no one else can see the warm light seems to shine out of him. It would make his thoughts too obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But how is he supposed to do anything but love Keith? Who else would be there the way he is?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro will never have a better friend. And the rest of his feelings can just stay an ache in his chest where they belong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rubs over his forehead, trying to force away his oncoming headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If their exams were just on the ability to fly, Keith would have no problem. That’s the important part, the piece that keeps him here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the bottom of his heart, Keith does not give a fuck what the historical basis is for flight formations. Some people in a war ages ago made a shape and they won and there is not a single fucking reason Keith needs to know this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not even just the historical shit. All of it is useless. Keith will never be in a position where he needs to calculate the vector change caused by a lunar meteor impact. If the computer doesn’t do it, Keith isn’t going to sit there with a pen and paper and do it himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On and on and on. Nonsense to prove they can ‘do the work’, when the work is performative bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the semester winds down, tensions have gone up for everyone. Adam has barely spoken a word that isn’t a quiz answer in a week. Even Matt’s joking has dried up, replaced with a haggard stare and a rictus smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A mug settles down in front of Keith. He blinks at it, as if it hopped onto the table by itself, then looks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives him a soft smile as he passes. He hands off another mug to Adam, who gives a zombie-like grunt, and one to Matt, who chugs it in one go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His rounds finished, Shiro sits down next to Keith. His books are open and his study guide is neatly filled out. Of them, he seems the least stressed - but that’s a lie, and Keith knows it. He has plenty to be stressed over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One cream, one sugar,” Shiro tells him, when Keith only continues to stare. “It’s shitty coffee, but that’s all they have on campus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith finally picks up the mug. It’s freshly poured and still warm. The heat might be more comforting than the caffeine. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Shiro says easily. He flips through his own textbook, cross referencing from his notes, and starts to write. “If you need help quizzing you or just going over something, let me know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does that apply for all of us?” Adam asks flatly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Physics?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hate calc.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro chuckles sympathetically and pushes his notebook back away. Instead, he scoots his chair around the table and settles in next to Adam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches and takes a sip of his coffee. He wants to ask for help, but unlike Adam he doesn’t have a specific problem area. All of it feels like a problem outside of a cockpit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a long time since Keith has felt this off balance academically. Last year had been difficult as he was finally going to classes for the ‘first’ time. This year is even worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How is he supposed to survive to graduation?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the table, Matt watches Shiro and Adam go over their equations. Then he pulls out his phone. A moment later, Keith’s phone buzzes in his pocket.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘If I wanted to go feral in the woods, would you help?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Matt’s text asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wrinkles his nose and looks up again. Matt folds his hands under his chin, eyes huge and pleading.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Which woods?’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Is Keith’s first response. Then, he adds,</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘What happened to being a super Holt genius?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘Overrated. Living wild in the woods sounds better.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cracks a tiny smile, because he can understand the feeling. Mabe even worse than Matt - he has his father’s expectations. Really, Keith is only here while he waits for the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does he need to graduate? Maybe he can just live in his shack for the next few years and not bother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has never considered himself a quitter. If anything, he’s overly stubborn. But hell if it isn’t tempting to just drop out instead of failing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares down at his phone. Then he sighs as he responds.</span>
  <em>
    <span> ‘Nah. You’re too skinny to eat when supplies dwindle.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Matt’s insulted squawk is satisfying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks up at the noise, blinking at Matt. Then he follows the gaze to Keith. Slowly, his brow furrows as he seems to spot something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Face warm, Keith ducks his head and sips his coffee. Shiro doesn’t need to see how Keith’s struggling right now. This is a stupid thing to be worried over, anyway. Not compared to what Shiro’s been going through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Shiro just focuses back on Adam and leaves it be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once his coffee is gone, Keith applies himself to his flashcards. They don’t help with the large concepts, but he can at least memorize dates and facts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does at least help to see Matt smush his face into a textbook. If even Matthew Holt, self-proclaimed genius, is having trouble, then Keith doesn’t feel like such an idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith gets through his flashcards three times, and by the end he at least has the dates down pat. Which doesn’t matter, because if he can’t answer the essay or short answer portions of his exams then dates won’t mean a damn thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then, Shiro gives Adam a careful pat on the shoulder. “See? You do have it. You just have to apply the same principles to the next question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the next problem is always different, and I have no idea how to do it,” Adam grumbles out, resting his cheek on his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s smile doesn’t falter. “It’s math. It doesn’t change between problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promise. Give it a try.” Shiro straightens up and looks over Matt and Keith, hovering somewhere between amusement and alarm at their collective attitude. “How about you two? How are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve calculated the best points of entry for molotov cocktails to burn down the whole building,” Matt reports cheerfully. “It’d only take two people ten minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro raises a single brow, his bland expression not shifting at all. “And your father?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call in a tip,” Matt says, shrugging. “But at the end of the day, sacrifices might need to be made.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro opens his mouth and takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to figure out what part of Matt’s plan to interrogate first. Then he shakes his head and turns, ignoring Matt. “Keith?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without looking up, Keith shrugs. “I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is, in fact, a terrible attempt to lie. Really, after almost a decade of hiding extra memories, he should be better than this. But it’s hard to lie when all he wants to do is smash his face into the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horribly, Shiro’s expression softens. He picks up his chair and circles the table to settle next to Keith. “Okay, what parts do you want to go over? I can quiz you and prove you’re doing just fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares at him forlornly. Then he gestures to the table, including all of his textbooks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That-” Shiro shakes his head. “Keith, you’ve been doing fine all year. What makes you think you’re going to fail now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What does ‘doing fine’ even mean? Yeah, his average is okay, but Keith thinks of the couple of quizzes he was confident in, only to get back Cs or worse. Or the pop quiz last month he’d been unprepared for, and had completely bombed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why is Keith supposed to think the final exams will go better than those?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro reaches up and taps Keith on the forehead. He rubs against the wrinkles of Keith’s furrowed brow. “You know everything you need to already. All you need to do is remind yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy for you to say,” Keith says, tugging his head away. All of him feels like a bow about to snap. Shiro can sit there and say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh, it’ll all work out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of course he can. He’ll freak out over a B, but he’s never worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone is struggling over this. Why is Shiro so fucking calm?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pauses, head cocked to the side. “Forgive me if I’m wrong,” he says slowly, picking each word carefully, “but it seems to me the issue is stress less than the actual classes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not everyone is fucking perfect,” Keith snaps back, loud enough that the words echo through the library. Several heads pick up to look over at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Keith wants to bolt. He doesn’t really care what other random cadets think about him, but he doesn’t like their stares. He especially doesn’t like Shiro’s flat, polite look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the table, Adam and Matt watch warily. Considering the last fight they witnessed lasted a long, painful week, he’s not surprised they look so uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not asking for perfection,” Shiro says. “No one is. I just think you should be patient with yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith flinches, his fingers digging into the book. Patience yields focus, is that what he wants to say?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of Keith realizes that Shiro is right. He’s working himself up into an eruption of stress. But Keith has never been good at talking himself down when he feels like his back is against a wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he says nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro continues to stare. He hasn’t so much as blinked at Keith’s lack of response or his snapping. He’s steady and calm, no matter what Keith throws at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The foundations of the man that faced captivity and a war with far more grace than anyone could expect.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I try something?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith flinches again, expecting Shiro to start quizzing him or throwing test scores in his face, as if that’ll make exams less daunting. But he shrugs. “Fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Turn away from me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why, so he can’t see his notes? Keith gives him a last glance, then one at Matt and Adam (who are now pretending not to be watching.) Finally, he shrugs yet again and turns to stare at the library shelves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands settle on his shoulders. Keith jolts and tenses. Shiro stays still until Keith’s shoulders sink back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then his thumbs dig in and move in circles. His palm presses down into the tight line of Keith’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t a quiz. This is a back rub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tenses again. He’s suddenly hyperware of Shiro’s proximity, only a foot behind him. How big and warm his hands are. His body feels exposed, like every muscle twitch gives away far too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro continues to work with the same patience he’d just suggested. Even with his stress and nerves (or maybe because of them), Keith can’t hold onto his tension. Shiro’s thumbs force it out of his muscles. Inch by inch, he starts to slump in place. Keith’s head falls forward limply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is methodical, working down the muscles until they turn to butter. His hands feel huge in comparison to Keith’s, and the palms and fingertips are rough from flying. The jacket muffles the effects, but Keith knows those hands from sparring, from traded touches, and from sheer proximity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distantly, Keith wonders how Shiro learned how to do this. Or if he did at all, and the simple touch and encouragement were all it took to make Keith into a vaguely upright pile of mush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Shiro is done with Keith’s back, he focuses up onto his neck and behind his ears. Then his fingers move up to his scalp, scrubbing through the hair. With the slightest push, Keith would fall flat on his face and probably still not move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feeling better?” Shiro asks, his voice painfully soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith thinks about turning around. Matching the sound of his voice to the look in his eyes. Imagining this moment again, but late night in bed as they both try to fall asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t. Instead, Keith just mumbles out an agreement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What caused the failure of the second Titan landing site?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pressure from extra take-offs and landings cracked the ice and caused instability,” Keith answers, before his brain even fully catches up to the question. His eyes open and he blinks at the library shelves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which flight formation was invented at the Battle of the Sierra Madres?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Delgato formation.” The answer comes immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro brushes Keith’s hair back into place. It should be far too intimate, but it’s Shiro, and Keith can’t bring himself to be fussed. “See? You know it all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s two questions,” Keith says. But he sees Shiro’s point. Already he feels better than he did just ten minutes ago. The stress is there, but it no longer makes him want to give up or throw up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if Keith ever would. But at least the fear isn’t so strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Matt says, cheerful and bright. Keith startles, because he’d half forgotten they were there. “Are massages on the table for all of us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith turns around, unable to hide his pink cheeks. He scowls at Matt, who doesn’t even blink. Instead, his gaze is laser-focused on Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks completely unashamed. He folds his hands on the table in front of him. “If you feel the need, I’m happy to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll pass,” Adam says flatly. His eyes stay firmly down on his textbook, as if looking up would give him an eyeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That doesn’t help Keith’s blush. Which isn’t fair - Shiro doesn’t have this problem, and he’s the one who gave the massage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt taps his chin thoughtfully. His smirk grows as he continues to eye Shiro, which doesn’t fluster him at all. “What if I want my massage to have a happy ending?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Choking, Keith grabs his pen and throws it at Matt. It bounces off his shoulder and goes skidding. “Holt!” Keith hisses out. “Not appropriate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure? Because Shiro was the one getting handsy in the library.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro just arches his brows, still cool and confident. “Happy endings aren’t free. And you can’t afford me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow!” Matt places a hand on his chest and leans back as if he’d been struck. “Low blow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you all be quiet?” Someone hisses. All of them glance over at the next table, where a stressed looking fourth-year glares daggers at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Shiro tells her, giving a wincing smile. “You’ll have to wait, Matt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s okay. Gives me a chance to prepare. You know, candles, flower petals. Fancy underwear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time it’s Adam that throws a pencil. Matt covers his mouth to muffle his snickers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shoots him another glare, because he isn’t nearly sorry enough for his stupid comments. But Shiro just goes back to his books without so much as blinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently it’s just no big deal to him. Like exams, the backrub is just something Shiro takes in stride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith needs to let it go too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, Keith goes back to his flashcards. This time, it’s easier to concentrate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Patience yields focus, apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It says a lot that both versions of Shiro know what Keith needs to hear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(And both versions will touch Keith without any sign of feelings.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Fucking typical.)</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>(Note: Trigger warning for emergency hospital scenes, and the possible ramifications thereof. Especially given the current climate, if that's going to be difficult for you to read, you can message me on Tumblr or Twitter and I'll sum it up so you can skip this bit.)</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The days blend together into a mass of study sessions and review classes. Even the advantage of his remembered lessons don’t save Shiro, the same way that they didn’t last year. The Garrison curriculum is simply too competitive for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Shiro does his best to be a rock among the rapids. Someone needs to be calm in the face of rising tempers and increasing stress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might as well be Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His worry for his grandfather never fully goes away, but their confrontation settled him. Grandfather had been confident. Yes, his condition wasn’t the best, but he was an older man, just as he’d always said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The future is not set in stone. Shiro needs to believe that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so the worry fades to the back of his mind. He forgets to fret for a day or two. Then, a stray memory hits him, and the fear climbs back up his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At times, Shiro wonders what it says about him that he can forget that his grandfather might be dying. But the world is so normal and classes are so chaotic that he gets distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s during one of those lessons that Shiro’s phone buzzes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an otherwise normal Wednesday. Shiro takes notes from Montgomery on what to expect from her exam. It’s really no different from Physics I or II, but better to be safe than sorry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When his phone starts to vibrate, Shiro winces. He has it on silent, but the noise is still loud enough that several people turn to look at him. On the second buzz, Montgomery trails off and her eyes track back over the classroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro ducks his head and pulls the phone out under his desk. The number is unfamiliar, though the area code is his own. Probably a spoofed telemarketer call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is just about to hit ignore when the familiarity of the situation hits him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stomach sinking, Shiro instinctively glances up and looks to Keith. He’s looking back, eyes wide and lips pulled down. He looks worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horror shocks through him, sudden and terrible as a clawed hand on the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Shiro says numbly. He shoves his chair back and stands. It wobbles and falls, but he makes no move to fix it. The world hazes around him. “I have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Montgomery responds, but Shiro doesn’t hear any words. His classmates start to murmur, but it just adds to the roaring in his ears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lurches toward the classroom door and stumbles his way through. As soon as he’s out of the room, he accepts the call, just as it vibrates for the fourth time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” He manages, though his throat feels too tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It can’t- this can’t happen again. It was better this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather said-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this Takashi Shirogane?” A professional, sympathetic voice asks. Young, deep. Unfamiliar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Please, please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>be a scam about a vacation destination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Shiro manages. “That’s me. Who is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is William, and I work at White Canyon Hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No. No no no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid your grandfather was admitted to the hospital early this afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro puts his back to the wall. That helps to keep him upright. His free hand digs at the metal walls, seeking a handhold that doesn’t exist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t understand,” Shiro says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time was supposed to be better. Grandfather had said he was okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why isn’t he okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid there isn’t much I can say over the phone. He’s alive right now and we’re making him comfortable. But I should tell you that you probably want to come as fast as possible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t fair. They talked a few days ago. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro slides to the floor and curls up, his forehead brushing his knees. Vaguely, he hears a door open and footsteps echo through the hallway, but that isn’t important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most important thing is that this is wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mind scrambles, trying desperately to grasp what he’s being told. The dream and reality crash into one, until he doesn't remember which he’s supposed to be in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s today’s date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “I’m sorry?” William clears his throat. “It’s April 25th, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was that the day?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What kind of grandson does it make him that he can’t fucking remember?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Shiro manages to force out. He tries to keep his voice steady. Calm. He’s calm. “I mean... do they think...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Recovery may be possible,” the young man says. “I can’t say more right now. But I’m afraid you may need to prepare yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time, Grandfather hadn’t made it to the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why should this time be any different? Why should anything be different?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” Shiro says. Calm. But his voice trembles. He’s still curled up into a terrified little ball on the ground. “Thank you for letting me know. Is there anything I need to do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you arrive, make sure to have proof of your identity. Other than that, no. If you can get here quickly, we can go over more of this with you in person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Grandfather is dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time was too late. Last time, Shiro had sent the call to voicemail and hadn't checked until dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if he’s too late again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro ends the call and picks up his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is sitting in front of him. One hand is out, but he hasn’t touched or interrupted. The door to the classroom is still open, and Montgomery continues to give her lesson. In another world, Shiro would still be in there too, taking the same stupid notes he didn’t need.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to go,” Shiro says to him. “Grandfather is in the hospital.” He’s not even thinking, just scrambling against the truth. Grandfather is dying, and this time- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time Shiro can be there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Keith says, simple as that. He holds out his hand for Shiro to take. “Then let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Let’s.’ As in ‘us’. As in both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, Keith is fond of Grandfather too. Shiro takes hold of Keith’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the moment, he’s distracted. But looking back, Shiro didn’t think he could love Keith any more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leads Shiro through the halls of the Garrison like their joined hands are a leash. He takes them to the offices, and then back to the vehicle bay, speaking to everyone with unstoppable confidence. He handles questions and objections with equal authority.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They need to get to White Canyon Hospital. For that, they need a car. So Keith is getting them a car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His Grandfather is dying,” Keith says to the attendant, loud enough to make the man wince and everyone look over. “I don’t give a shit about a waitlist. We’ll either rent the car, or I’ll steal it now and you can fucking send the cops after me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks and tries to focus again. But what he sees is a hot summer evening. An urn sitting at an alter. A picture of Grandfather, younger than Shiro could remember him in his lifetime. Dozens of flowers. Quiet murmurs and offers of support.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An empty house. Long shadows and longer days. Deep exhaustion and so much guilt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The jangle of keys snaps Shiro back into focus. Keith once again takes his hand and leads Shiro to a plain, white car with the Garrison logo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have everything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lifts his school bag in answer. He doesn’t care about anything else he’ll need. The rest can wait until they’re at the hospital.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except- ID. And phone, if they contact him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro yanks open the bag and digs into the inner pocket. His fingers brush his wallet. Good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m ready,” Shiro says, which is a complete lie. He reaches for the keys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith closes his fingers around them. “No.” Before Shiro can even open his mouth, he holds up his other hand. “Shiro. Let me, okay? I can do this for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distantly, Shiro knows he’s not in a fit state to drive. He wants to, because it would be something to focus on other than the gnawing horror trying to eat him alive. But he shouldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro drops his arm and nods. “Okay. I trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith gives him a flash of a smile, radiant despite the pain behind his eyes. He waits for Shiro to get settled before he gets behind the wheel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In moments, they’re on the road home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith drives like he flies - pushing the limit of what sanity or the law says he should do. It doesn’t feel fast enough, not when each minute dragging by could be a minute too late. Shiro bites back demands that he go even faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It’s probably a very good thing that Keith is driving, for that thought alone.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning back in the uncomfortable seat of the Garrison-issued vehicle, Shiro looks over at Keith behind the wheel and lets out a ragged bark of laughter. “You and cars,” he manages, his voice a croak. “Were you really going to steal it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s head snaps to him, eyes wide. He seems stunned, which is odd. But Shiro can’t figure out the thoughts in his own head, much less someone else’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I had to,” Keith says. “I said I’d get you to your grandfather. So I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods. A thin smile forces over his lips, but there’s no actual happiness behind it. Even so, he means it when he says, “thank you.” Those two simple words aren’t near enough to explain what Keith’s actions mean to Shiro, but it’s all he has.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Keith says, as if stealing cars is the obvious choice when faced with opposition. Maybe for him it is. “I know how this’ll sound, but... you should try and rest if you can. It might be a long night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rest? Just go to sleep while his grandfather might die at any second? Shiro stares at Keith, uncomprehending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs, clearly at a loss. He keeps his eyes on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it for you?” Shiro asks, before he can think it through. “A long night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith gives a bitter little smile. “No. It was really quick, actually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shuts up after that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drive home from the Garrison usually takes a little over two and a half hours, cutting through Platu City on the way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes it an hour and forty five minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That should alarm Shiro, or at least make him thankful they didn’t get pulled over. But his brain doesn’t have room for anything except growing dread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They wouldn’t say anything to me,” Shiro admits, when they pull into visitor parking. “I don’t know what’s happening. They just told me to hurry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith frowns. “They wouldn’t? Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. He said he couldn’t talk over the phone.” Shiro rubs over his forehead, trying to make his brain work properly. “I guess it’s a legal thing. All I know is that I need my ID.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Keith bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks. “That doesn’t mean there’s no chance. It just means they want you around in case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is trying to help, but Shiro shakes his head. Even if he didn’t have the dream, he can read between the lines of that call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time, Shiro hadn’t been here. Last time he’d been too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knows how this ends. Despite his knowledge, despite his efforts, pathetic as they were...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time is inevitable. And it hasn’t spared his grandfather. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Shiro can’t prevent this early tragedy, what does he think he can change later?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once inside, they make their way to the front desk. Shiro hands over his ID, and he’s given a room number.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid only family is allowed in,” the receptionist says sympathetically, but her gaze is steady. It means nothing to her: just another rule.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has to do this alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, he reaches out and takes Keith’s hand, squeezing. “He’s a family friend. He should be there too. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Keith says. When Shiro whirls on him, he meets his gaze steadily. Intently. “You go ahead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t say ‘I’ll wait here.’ He doesn’t say anything more, but his eyes bore into Shiro’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When do they ever give a fuck about rules?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Shiro says. He gives another squeeze, hating to be separate from Keith. But they’ll meet up later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just for now, Shiro continues on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nurses, doctors, and other visitors pass. Most of them seem easy, looking at their phones or talking calmly to each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For them, this is a simple visit. For them, this is work. For them, the world is continuing as normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro understands that. But it feels a thousand miles away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The plain white halls stretch on, with huge signs leading to the cardiac unit. Shiro follows those numbly until he comes to the right room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He expects a tiny space with one hospital bed. Maybe a little window, maybe not. Some monitors and equipment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he comes to a large space, with a desk in the middle. The walls are lined with beds separated by sheets, with more sheets that close them off from the room. One is open, and a patient rests, breathing slowly. Another has dark shapes and quiet voices behind it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman behind the desk looks up and gives a polite smile. “Hello, can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m looking for Gr- for Takashi Shirogane.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My namesake</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shiro wants to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My grandfather. He took me in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>None of that matters, not right now. This nurse doesn’t know or care about those details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Shiro, they’re everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The nurse gives him a thin smile. “Ah, yes. Right behind there.” She points to the right, at one of the closed off sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods to her, because he has no idea what else to say. He steps up to the sheet. He can hear beeping on the other side. There’s a dark shape in the middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steeling himself, Shiro holds out his hand. It doesn’t shake. He pulls the sheet open wide enough to let himself through.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside is the little hospital bed and the monitor. Inside is claustrophobic and bright with the fluorescent lights above.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside is Grandfather, asleep (unconscious) on a bed. There are tubes going to his nose and an IV connected to his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t move. His dark hair, salt-and-pepper, splays over the stark white pillow. The thin blanket bunches under his arm. It looks scratchy. Grandfather would complain if he was awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In all his years, Grandfather has never looked so old. So frail. His left wrist is startlingly thin where it rests on top of the blanket. The fluorescent light makes the wrinkles on his face seem stark and deep, rather than warm. He has bags under his eyes and he’s so, so pale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is his grandfather. This is also a thin old man in a hospital bed. Those are the same, but it feels wrong. Shiro has seen this face a hundred thousand times, but now he’s forced to see him in a new way. From the outside, he doesn’t just see Grandfather. He sees someone fallible and painfully human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro steps up slowly, almost reluctantly. He holds out a hand, hovering his fingers just over his grandfather’s exposed arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gently, he touches down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s warm. Firm under the touch. Exactly as he was when Shiro last touched him months ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beeping of the monitors continues. Grandfather’s face doesn’t even twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s stomach twists. He’s unconscious, not asleep. Of course he didn’t wake up. But it doesn’t feel fair. Shiro is here. Grandfather should know that he’s not alone, that Shiro is by his side and that he needs to fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time is different. It needs to be different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a small, plastic chair next to the bed. Shiro collapses down into it. He doesn’t let go, his thumb rubbing idle circles over the underside of Grandfather’s arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still doesn’t wake up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a shuffle as the sheet is pulled open. Shiro slowly picks up his head, expecting it to be Keith, but instead sees an unfamiliar woman in a white coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Shiro jumps to his feet, heart pounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you Takashi?” The woman asks. Her voice is firm, matter-of-fact. In charge. Somehow, that’s easier to take than quiet sympathy. This doctor knows what’s going on. She can give him answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods. “Yes. Nice to-” He winces, because frankly it’s not nice to meet this doctor. “I am,” he finishes lamely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor nods, giving him a tiny smile at his stammering. “I’m Doctor Fraiser. I’m deeply sorry about the circumstances, but I’m glad you were able to be here. I’m afraid there’s not much we can say over the phone without consent.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And consent would be pretty hard to get when Grandfather is unconscious. Shiro nods his understanding, even as his stomach twists. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fraiser sighs. “He was unconscious when he came in, so we can’t be completely sure. In short, your grandfather suffered from an acute coronary syndrome - essentially, he had a heart attack. He was able to call for an ambulance, but we believe there was a delay before he did. We don’t know why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting down, Shiro folds his hands in his lap. His eyes go back to the frail form on the bed. “He has... I don’t think I ever got a name. A condition where he gets out of breath and his chest is sore. He might have thought...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Angina,” Fraiser agrees, nodding. “It’s possible he mistook the symptoms because of his condition. I’m afraid we can’t know for sure why he waited. When the paramedics arrived, he was already unconscious and he hasn’t woken up since.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Head down, Shiro nods. He swallows several times, not against tears but against the sheer weight of the knowledge. “How...? I talked to him a few days ago. He seemed fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fraiser sighs again and pulls up another chair. “It was sudden, I’m sure. There’s an increased risk of heart attack for someone with Coronary Heart Disease. He was undergoing treatment, but unfortunately this still happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d sounded so sure he was fine. And Shiro had believed him. Like it was all okay, because Grandfather said so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like he was a child again. A little boy with a stuffed dog and one suitcase, who trusted the grandfather who took him in and gave him a home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he...?” Shiro’s voice cut out. He took a deep breath and forced himself to pick up his head and focus on the doctor. “What are his chances?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Fraiser turned her gaze to the monitors. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news. The fact that he’s still alive is promising, but his heart is damaged. If he recovers, he’ll be weak for weeks after this, and he’ll have to make some large lifestyle changes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinked, surprised to hear her talking about an ‘after’ at all. “Do you think that’s possible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you should be prepared for all possibilities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like a cop out of an answer. But Fraiser doesn’t seem to be avoiding the question. She stands and moves to Grandfather’s other side, checking his IV and fluids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sits and watches. He wants to fidget and bounce his leg, but keeps himself under control. It just feels wrong to be here while Grandfather isn’t aware. Like sneaking into his room while he’s sleeping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except Grandfather won’t wake up. He might never wake up again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he going to stay here?” Shiro asks. “I expected a room. I’m not really sure how this works.” Last time he’d been young, and his mother had been in the same room for weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll clear a room for him as soon as we can,” Fraiser says. “But unfortunately space is limited, and the rooms need to be cleaned between patients. If you’re not here when we move him, we’ll let you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods and trails off, watching Fraiser work. He’s useless here - all he can do is sit and hold Grandfather’s wrist, as if his physical touch will change anything at all. He does reach up to tuck Grandfather’s hair into place, but he doesn’t stir, and that feels wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sheet moves again. Shiro glances over and gives Keith a smile. He manages one back, then freezes at the sight of Grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello,” Dr. Fraiser greets, turning to face him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Keith says, then turns to Shiro and collapses down next to him. He places his hand on his thigh, palm up, in offering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes it without hesitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Keith,” Shiro says, and doesn’t bother to explain more. Hopefully his presence will be unremarkable. “I’ll catch him up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fraiser nods to them both. “Certainly. Do you have any other questions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thousand, but none of them are ones Doctor Fraiser could answer. “No, not right now. If we have more...?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can ask Nurse Jackson outside,” Doctor Fraiser says. “If she can’t answer, she can page me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods. Keith squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I had better news for you. We’ll all be hoping for the best.” With a last nod to them both, Doctor Fraiser slips out and closes the sheet behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she’s gone, Keith turns to Shiro. “How are you holding up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if there were a good answer to that question, Shiro wouldn’t be able to describe it. Instead he shrugs and looks down at their joined hands. He rubs his thumb in slow circles, like he’d tried to do for Grandfather. Keith automatically shifts below his touch, responsive and alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He hasn’t woken up,” Shiro says. His voice cracks on the words. “He had a heart attack, but he must not have called right away. If he wakes up, his heart is badly damaged.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shifts closer until their shoulders are flushed. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was alone,” Shiro continues. He slams his eyes shut. “He was alone and having a heart attack and he had to call for himself. I knew he wouldn’t leave to get cared for, but maybe if I’d been there...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro,” Keith says, surprisingly firm. The tone finally makes Shiro look up and meet his eyes. “It took you months to even get him to tell you what was happening. What makes you think he would have let you stay home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I dropped out, he wouldn’t have had a choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t know. He didn’t know. How were you supposed to see this coming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I-” Shiro cuts off, mostly out of habit. He doesn’t care about the stupid secret of his dream right now, not in the fucking least. But explaining would take so much effort and he just can’t. “I knew something was wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence holds. Shiro swallows hard, trying to even wrap his head around the situation. Grandfather, on that hospital bed. The monitor above him. Keith’s hand in his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three hours ago it had been a normal fucking Wednesday. How is that possible?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not fair,” Keith says suddenly. His eyes are on the sheet walls rather than either of the room’s other occupants. “It’s never fair. In hindsight, it’s obvious, but... I don’t want to live like I’m going to lose everyone. I tried that. It sucked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s gaze snaps to Keith. It’s such an honest, raw statement that for a moment he can’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Intellectually, Shiro knows he survived this pain in the dream. Even though he found out too late, he dealt with it and mourned and went on with his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Faced with the same situation, it seems impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it get easier?” He finally asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Losing people?” Keith glances at him and gives a tiny, humorless laugh. His gaze is too intense as he looks over Shiro’s face. “No. No matter how many times, it still hurts to lose someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro swallows, discomforted by Keith’s stare. Even so, he forces himself to meet it. “I think that’s good,” he says. “I think it’s supposed to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably. Doesn’t make it easier in the moment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It doesn’t.” Shiro takes a deep breath. “You don’t have to stay. You can head back if you need to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares like Shiro has lost his mind. “I’m not leaving you. And- I like your grandfather too. He’s been good to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Shiro gives a trembling smile and leans against him. “That’s- okay. I’m glad. He’d appreciate knowing that. And you being here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Technically, Grandfather wouldn’t enjoy either of them seeing him right now - sickly and thin on that too white sheet. The man who wouldn’t even admit his illness to his own family wasn’t going to enjoy anyone seeing him in this state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s a lie Shiro doesn’t mind giving, not when it makes Keith nod, satisfied. And Grandfather would appreciate knowing just providing a place for Keith to stay for the summer made such an impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sit together for a few minutes. Keith starts to fidget. The stillness of the room doesn’t seem to agree with him, and he brought nothing but his phone as a distraction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro nudges him. “You were right when you said today is going to be a long one. There’s a cafeteria back the way we came. Want to grab us some coffee?” He pulls out his wallet, because he isn’t sure Keith brought his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hesitates, frowning at Shiro. “You sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I’d like caffeine? Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another beat, as if Keith thinks that leaving will make Shiro break down. And considering the way he’s been gripping him like a lifeline, he’s maybe not wrong. But finally he nods. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes the credit card and gets up. He looks over Shiro once more, as if assessing. Then he goes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is once again alone with his grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A morbid draw has Shiro on his feet. He looks over Grandfather, as if the past fifteen minutes would have changed something. As if Shiro’s presence would bring life back into him, open his eyes, make this all better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time, Shiro had been too late. This time, he’s here. But does it even matter when Grandfather doesn’t know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wraps both hands around one of his Grandfather’s. His hands always felt huge, but right now it’s so small and delicate in his grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he says, switching instinctively to Japanese. His eyes burn and he blinks the sensation away. “I tried to make a difference. I tried to be there for you. I should have just told you the truth. But I’ve always been physically a mess. I didn’t want you to think I’m crazy too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no response. Grandfather’s eyes don’t twitch. The monitor shows no change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been through this before. It’s not fair that I have to lose you again. This time I’m here! It’s supposed to mean something.” Shiro leans forward, resting his head on his grandfather’s chest. It doesn’t feel as big and comforting as it did when he was a kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response. The steady rise and fall doesn’t change. The movement of Grandfather’s chest is slight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to talk to you,” Shiro admits, as if confessing the words to Grandfather’s heart will heal it. “I want you to look at me and tell me it’s okay. I want you to say I’m worrying over nothing. I want you to say I’m your tiny little Takashi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just once.” Shiro is begging, now. Pleading with his whole heart. He doesn’t care if the nurses or other patients can hear. He doesn’t care if the whole world sees him fall apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants his Grandfather back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need you. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knew the future, and he hadn’t been able to help the man who had taken him in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. Don’t leave me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears finally fall, dripping into the scrubs they’d put on Grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this was one of the fairytales Shiro used to love, this would be the moment he wakes. He’d feel that hand twitch, and the other rest in his hair. Grandfather would greet him, and tell Shiro he loves him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grandfather was supposed to be around. He was supposed to come to Shiro’s graduation and hug him after. Tease him that he’s always been in love with flying. Say he’s proud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for a second time, he won’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes in place. Eventually, he gets his breathing back under control. He stumbles his way back into the chair and folds in half, his forehead against his thighs. His hands find his hair, fisting as if the pain will wake him up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith comes back, he doesn’t say anything, or even seem surprised. He just sets down Shiro’s coffee next to his feet and rubs over his back without a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Together, they wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Less than an hour later, the monitor makes a shrill, steady noise. In moments, the little area is filled with nurses and doctors, shouting to each other. Shiro and Keith are ushered out.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(The staff try, performing compressions and injections and defibrillation. But the damaged heart just won’t start again.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Grandfather never opens his eyes.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(This time, Shiro was there. But it didn’t make a difference.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I should make this disclaimer now: The way I have depicted a hospital setting in this fic may not be totally accurate. I have considered this and done some research (thank you to Jenn and Erin for the answers to some of my questions.)</p><p>However, the rest I decided to keep for myself. While this may not be accurate to what an emergency hospital visit would look like for a hospital, it is reflective of what I've been through. For most of 2019 and early 2020, my father was in and out of the hospital often for cancer treatments and complications. He's now in remission, thank fuck, but these hospital scenes are based strongly on visits I've had. So, you know, it's staying as is. Fuck realism.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this nihilistic chapter!</p><p>On a lighter note, I have OC naming conventions. In order of most to least common, they are:</p><p>1) Named after staff from Voltron<br/>2) Named after Stargate characters<br/>3) Named after my own damn OCs</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Shiro is given the opportunity to delay his exams. Keith isn’t surprised when he doesn’t take it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do stay in Shiro’s home through the weekend. Keith hovers, without any clue what to say or do. The body has to be cremated, and there’s the start of the legal proceedings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It turns out that having someone die is a complicated thing. Keith doesn’t remember any of it - just being shuffled off, furious and feral at everyone who so much as spoke to him. The state must have taken care of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it falls on Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Keith can do is be there. He’s rarely more than an arm’s length from Shiro through the next several days. He knows his absence at the Garrison is unexcused - it wasn’t his grandfather, so he doesn’t get bereavement time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith couldn’t care less. He’ll happily take a few unexplained absences if it means Shiro isn’t alone. Hell, he’ll drop out if that’s what it takes. He did last time, and he still has no regrets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After, they head back to the Garrison. Exams are a blur. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has to stifle a morbid urge to laugh. Just a few weeks ago, these stupid tests had felt like an insurmountable task.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Keith doesn’t really care what he gets so long as he passes. Not anymore. Like last time, after he’d dropped out, he’s suddenly gained a new, terrible perspective. Grades and classes and tests don’t matter, not in the face of loss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Through it all, Shiro is nearly silent. Even if he wanted to, Keith wouldn’t interrupt the quiet. The world has changed irrevocably for his friend. He knows exactly what that’s like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he can do is be there for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When exams finally end, the rest of the class erupts into partying. Their third year is over, and next year they jump in and start real missions alongside their last classes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith and Shiro don’t join in. They leave again, this time in a rental car they can drop off in Shiro’s town. Keith drives, and Shiro stares out the window at the rising moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t speak the whole ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Summer begins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s strange how normal the Shirogane household feels, after the funeral and arrangements are made. For Keith, he didn’t see his childhood home for months or years at a time. It fell into disrepair, collecting dust and damage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this house is exactly the same as last summer. Now, Shiro is the one paying the bills for utilities, but otherwise life goes on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are still signs of Mr. Shirogane around. The book he left on the coffee table still has his bookmark stuffed inside. His room is respectfully avoided. Many of the mugs in the cabinet are the plain ones he always preferred.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like Mr. Shirogane has just gone out for the day. Like if they simply wait, the key will turn in the lock and he’ll come inside to greet them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought sends a shiver up Keith’s spine. It reminds him of those months where Shiro had disappeared in the Black Lion. But this time, Keith has seen the body. He was there when he flatlined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no magic that can bring Mr. Shirogane back. No clones, no Allura, no coincidences that bring him to life with no sign but silver hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has never had to continue living normally in the face of loss. In all other times, his life changed irrevocably at the same time. This feels wrong. This feels haunting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ghost isn’t Mr. Shirogane, though. It’s Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wanders through the house, keeping it scrupulously tidy. He goes through the legal process, the funeral, everything with robotic precision. He accepts condolences with pale smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of Shiro is washed out. The death of his guardian has drained Shiro of his life just as fully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is Keith even supposed to do to help with that? He can’t act like nothing has changed. There’s no pretty words that can ease this pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At times, Keith wonders if he should even be here. He hasn’t been back to his foster home since he turned 18, but he can go to his own place. Fix it up. Take the summer to make it his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if Keith isn’t here, Shiro will feel like he can grieve without an audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith can’t. He physically cannot. It’s not in him to turn around and walk out while Shiro drifts aimlessly through his grandfather’s house. If Shiro tells him, he’ll go. But until then, he stays.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Keith does what he can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not a lot - he can’t take the burden of legal responsibility from Shiro. He can’t make decisions about keeping the house or selling it, or handle the life insurance funds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What Keith can do is make sure meals happen and that Shiro eats. He can do laundry. He can sleep on the futon still on the floor of Shiro’s room. He can get groceries and accept the words of well-wishing neighbors in Shiro’s stead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so little. But maybe it’s enough. Those tiny little weights are at least lifted from Shiro’s shoulders. Maybe they give him a little room to breathe and process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s Keith’s hope at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s what he’s thinking as he drains a pot of pasta and adds sauce. Keith is no master chef - he’s never had a chance to learn much, anyway. But he can at least make a handful of dishes, mostly that are cheap and fast to make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro,” Keith calls down the hall. “Do you want to eat at the table or in your room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no response. That’s not unusual, over these past few weeks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith kills the heat on the stove and pulls out the bag of pre-packaged salad from the fridge. He sets it down on the counter, then sticks his head down the hallway. “Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No reply. Keith heads toward Shiro’s room, then stills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The light is on in Mr. Shirogane’s room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a split second, Keith doesn’t recognize that as strange. He might be in there reading on his tablet or just resting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reality hits, cold and unyielding. Keith swallows hard, then pushes open the cracked door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room is unfamiliar - Keith has only briefly seen inside before. But the bed is made, with a pair of slippers perched to the side. The drapes are pulled open, letting in the afternoon sunlight. A pair of reading glasses sit on top of a tablet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sits on the floor by the foot of the bed. He stares at the far wall, where a cane rests against the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He never used it, did he?” Shiro asks. His voice is quiet, like disuse has made his throat rusty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith steps inside, unaccountably nervous. This space had been quietly off limits for so long that it feels wrong to intrude. But Shiro is more important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He might have,” Keith says. “And just left it here last time he put it down.” He sits down next to Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I asked him to,” Shiro said. He pulls down his sleeve to expose a cuff and runs his fingers over it. “He was always so strict when he made sure I wore these or did my stretches.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s different when it’s you and not someone you love,” Keith says. “At least, I imagine it would be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably.” Shiro reaches out and gently picks up the cane. He lets it rest across his lap. “It wouldn’t have helped, though. The cane wouldn’t have stopped anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Likely not. Maybe resting more or straining himself would have made a difference, but it’s impossible to say. And, frankly, Keith can’t see a cane changing what happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t say anything, though. He just presses his thigh against the side of Shiro’s and waits. If he’s finally ready to talk, Keith will listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought...” Shiro’s head drops. He grips the cane until his knuckles turn white. “I really thought I might have made a difference. Changed something. But I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith frowns. Something about that logic doesn’t click for him. But this is grief - it doesn’t always make sense. “You’re not... it’s not your fault, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, Shiro flinches harder. “But I knew, Keith.” He says it quietly but vehemently. A whispered confession. He finally looks up and his eyes are begging. For what, Keith doesn’t know. “I knew, and he still died.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith swallows back against his own tightening throat. Shiro can say that, but he was just anxious. It was Keith who knew the man would die in the next few years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t work like that,” Keith finally says. He wishes he could explain this to Shiro, show that there’s no blood on his hands. Even if he could have done everything, it wouldn’t have helped. “Even if you’d been here, you couldn’t have made him do anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could have helped! I could have taken care of the house. Given him a rest. Or convinced him to get better care. Instead I thought this fucking thing would do it.” Fast as a snake, Shiro throws the cane. The handle dents the wall on impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tenses, not sure what to do anymore. When Shiro’s temper becomes visible, it’s a bad sign. “Shiro, listen to yourself. You tried. He didn’t want to. There’s nothing else you could have done. These things happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what’s the point?” Shiro surges to his feet. All of him is tense and trembling, his voice loud and his eyes bright for the first time in weeks. “What’s the fucking point of any of it? Of these?” He yanks off his cuffs and throws them down too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares up at him, not understanding. Why is he more upset that it’s not his fault? He’d thought this was grief, but he may have misjudged what’s really eating at Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should just give up now. If it’s all just ticking down and nothing I do matters, why bother? I’m going to die soon anyway, why not just let it happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Keith surges to his feet as well, light-headed with panic and anger. Shiro doesn’t get to say that. Not even when he’s being morbid and sad. He reaches out and grabs at Shiro’s upper arms. “I won’t let you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“These things happen,” Shiro shoots back, teeth bared. He’s flushed and his eyes are shining like he has a fever. Under Keith’s hands, he’s so tense he’s shaking. “It won’t be your fault. Isn’t that what matters?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Never in either life has Keith wanted to hit Shiro this badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not the point, you asshole!” Keith gives Shiro a firm shake, because it’s better than punching his face. “What are you even talking about? Does nothing matter unless you never die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro jerks his arms, but it’s not enough to shake Keith off. “No!” He looks down at the cuffs and the cane again and some of the fight drains out of him. “I thought I could change this. I thought I could make it better. But it all happened anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith continues to hold on, though he still has no idea what’s going on. He thought this was just survivor’s guilt. That, he understands. This is different, and he doesn’t know what to do to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The future’s going to hurt, Keith,” Shiro says. His voice is no longer drained and empty, but raw with pain. “It’s going to hurt us both. I’m going to die. I can’t do it. I can’t just... see it all coming and accept it. I’m not strong enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has no idea how right he is. But he also has no idea how wrong he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pulls Shiro into a hug, yanking them together tightly. He still barely comes up to Shiro’s chin. “Everyone is going to die someday. That doesn’t make the parts in between useless. It doesn’t make the parts between living here and losing your grandfather bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, Shiro stays stiff. Slowly, he leans into Keith’s touch, though his arms stay slack by his side. “He saved me. I couldn’t do the same for him. It’s not fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>‘You saved me,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith wants to reply. But that’s selfish. This isn’t about him. This is about the wounded heart that Shiro is trying to piece back together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not,” Keith says. “But you don’t make up for that by giving up now. You be someone he’d be proud of, instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shivers, a whole-body movement that starts from the core of him. “What if I’m not strong enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are. You’re so strong, Shiro. Trust me, I know.” Keith pulls back enough to cup Shiro’s cheek. It’s an intimate gesture, more telling than he wants. But that doesn’t matter when he can offer comfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like this, Keith can see the way Shiro is bleeding. There’s no wound to bandage, not this time. Keith loves this man, desperately. He wants to shelter this fragility and soothe the pain, but this is the best he can do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, Shiro leans forward. He presses their foreheads together. His eyes are close enough to see the flecks of brown in the grey irises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the strong one,” Shiro says. His voice is matter-of-fact, full of simple, unstoppable faith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same faith that made Shiro believe in Keith, last time around. Made him believe Keith was the ‘true’ Black Paladin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Keith says what he wishes he’d said then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a fucking competition. For goddamn once, it’s not. It’s not about you versus me, or you versus fate, or whatever the fuck. Just believe me when I say you’re worthy and you’re going to do great things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes go wide, either from the vehemence or the contents of the words. His lips quirk in a flash of dark humor. “Go, be great, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phrase sounds familiar, but Keith can’t place it. His brow furrows, wrinkling where it presses against Shiro’s. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing.” Shiro reaches up and gently cups either side of Keith’s jaw. His hands are startlingly warm. “I’m going to hurt you, you know. Even if I don’t mean to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Keith says, because damn does he ever. “We’re human.” Mostly. “That’s what happens. I’ll hurt you too. Especially next time we spar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cracks a tiny, shaky smile. His eyes drift to the side of his grandfather’s bed, and the pain returns. “It’s not fair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart squeezes in his chest. “I know. It’s really not. I’m sorry, Shiro. He loved you so much, though. You made him so proud, even when he was pissed at us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another of those fractured smiles crosses Shiro’s face. “Yeah,” he manages. His voice is thick. “I love him too. I wanted to say that. But he...” He trembles again, his face crumpling. “I was there in time. But it didn’t matter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course it did.” Keith brushes Shiro’s bangs - still pure black - out of his face. “It matters to you. You got to be there so he wasn’t alone. That’s the difference.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he should say something about an afterlife. That Mr. Shirogane knows that Shiro loves him and he was there, because he can look over them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t know that he believes in all that. But it’s not about Mr. Shirogane, not really. It’s about Shiro and what he needs. His grandfather is dead, and it’s Shiro who has to live with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes slam shut. His bottom lip trembles. “Yeah,” he manages, voice cracked through and thick with tears. “I was there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he crashes forward, pressing his face into Keith’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around him. He has to bend over quite a ways, but it doesn’t seem to bother him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Shiro takes a wet, shaking breath, and lets it out in a sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stiffens, because he’s never known how to deal with anyone’s tears. Especially not Shiro - in all their years of friendship, this is the second time he’s seen him cry. That was a sudden outburst, half from frustration. Nothing like these bone deep, painfully loud gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following his instincts, Keith lowers them both to the ground. He holds Shiro, just as tight, and rocks them from side to side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sobs continue. Shiro grips at Keith’s shirt like otherwise he’ll completely shatter apart. His voice mixes with his cries, little whimpers and mumbled half words. Nothing that makes sense, just vocalization of the pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith says nothing. He doesn’t say it’s okay, because it’s not right now. He can’t speak for Mr. Shirogane or tell Shiro the future will be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But words were never what he was good at. Actions are what Keith does. So he holds him close, rocks him gently, and rubs his back. He lets Shiro vent the pain and the grief and is simply there for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what Keith has been waiting for this whole time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a long time for Shiro to cry himself out. Even when the tears end, he stays curled against his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t rush him. Even if he’s not great at these situations, he’s pretty sure Shiro has needed this for a while. Below that, he’s also pleased that the famously reserved Shiro thinks he’s safe enough to cry on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shiro finally pulls away, he rubs under his eyes and sniffs. “Sorry. I got you messy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no. Whatever shall I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cracks another of those barely-there smiles, but this time the corners of his eyes crinkle too. “Guess it bothers me more than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup. What bothers me is that there’s dinner waiting to be eaten.” Keith looks over Shiro’s face. “You need more time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mostly I need to wash my face. And blow my nose.” Shiro looks over his face. “Thank you, Keith. For being here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles back. “As if I’d be anywhere else.” Even so, his chest warms at Shiro’s open regard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only you would.” Shiro hesitates, and something seems to flash past his eyes. Keith stills, waiting for whatever he’s thinking about. But instead he stands up. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure,” Keith says, head tilted. Then he shakes off the odd moment. “Movie tonight? I know you have more calls and things to do, but... not tonight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pauses and shifts from foot to foot. The very idea of spending a night doing something enjoyable seems to make him squirm, probably from that guilt he’s carrying. But he finally nods. “Yeah. Sounds good. You pick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that.” Keith watches Shiro go. Then he picks up the cuffs and places the cane back against the wall. There’s no fixing the damage for now, so Keith leaves it be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stands by the doorway, one hand holding Shiro’s cuffs and the other hovering over the light switch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There should be something profound here. A goodbye. Acknowledgement of this loss and the man who kindly took him in and gave him a place to be welcome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this is an empty room. There’s no one to hear him but motes of dust. So Keith shakes his head and turns off the light. He closes the door firmly behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ll have to tackle this room and the remnants of Mr. Shirogane’s life. But not tonight. Not for a while. This can remain an alter to him, just the same as that black and white photo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, Keith has dinner to eat and a friend to look after.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Given the choice, he prefers to focus on the living.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has no idea how he managed to survive this summer last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every step is hellishly difficult, even with his previous understanding of what needs to be done. There’s just so much to handle: Arrangements to be made, deeds to put his name on, lawyers to appease, insurance to collect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s only the legal side. It doesn’t begin to cover the emotional ramifications. Intellectually, Shiro knows it does no good to make the house a preserved, unchanging monument. He just wants to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each week is a new, difficult challenge. And if it weren’t for Keith, Shiro doesn’t know how he’d manage. He’s a rock, the foundation that Shiro’s life can be re-crafted around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the little things that Shiro appreciates most. Keith is simply around, reminding Shiro to take breaks and not collapse into grief. He picks movies, goes with him to appointments, and lives in Shiro’s space. None of which is easy to do with Shiro in this state, he’s sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s alive, and he makes Shiro have to be alive as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There aren’t enough words to thank him. Not even to convey the magnitude of what he’s done. Keith acts like he’s doing nothing at all to help out, when to Shiro it’s everything. Keith is everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s help lets Shiro have a clearer head, too. In the dream, Shiro had put the house up for sale just to not have to deal with it. This time, the life insurance pays for taxes and upkeep until he graduates, so he decides to keep it. He can sell it later if he needs to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That aid also helps him pull himself together in time for classes. By the end of the summer, Shiro feels less like a still-bleeding wound and more like a human being.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro does feel bad that Keith’s summer has been devoured by supporting him. Now that the shack is officially his, he could spend his time there, or frankly doing whatever he feels like. Instead, he’s stayed here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why Shiro dedicates the last week of summer to actually giving Keith the vacation he’s earned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go to the mountains?” Shiro asks, elbows-deep in sudsy water. He scrubs at the bottom of the pot, where blackened bits of food stubbornly cling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(He’d tried to help with dinner. It would have been more helpful for him to stick to cutting and mixing.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brows jump up, but he doesn’t look away from the pan he’s drying. “Which mountains?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Rocky Mountains, I guess? Or it doesn’t have to be mountains. Maybe a big park.” Shiro shrugs and sets the pot aside for now. Maybe soaking will fix the problem. “Camping in general.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to go camping,” Keith repeats dubiously. He reaches back with his toes and uses them to open the cabinet under the island. Once the dry pan is inside, he kicks it closed. “Remember what happened last time? With the tree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t fun camping. That was exam camping.” Shiro’s bottom lip juts out. “Besides, I think that freaked you out more than it did me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s lips press thin. “I just hate your stupid morbid jokes. They’re never funny.” He ignores Shiro’s disagreeing hum. “Why do you suddenly want to go camping? Classes start soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just thought it’d be fun,” Shiro says, keeping his voice light. “You’re pretty good at it. And this time we could do, like, smores and a tent and sleeping bags. Real camping. Go out this weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith wipes his hands dry, head tilted. “I wouldn’t mind it, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not really promising. “If you’re not interested, don’t worry about it. I just figured I’d offer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Narrowing his eyes, Keith crosses his arms. With his sleeves rolled up to avoid the water, it makes the corded muscles of his forearms stand out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks away and rinses a plate instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you just tell me whatever it is you’re thinking?” Keith says dryly. “Instead of whatever game you’re playing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a game!” Shiro’s pout deepens. He turns off the water and puts the last plate in the dishwasher. “Camping would just be a nice way to end the summer. We should do at least one fun thing while you’re here, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cocks his head to the side, expression still tight. “You know you don’t owe me for sticking around, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can be grateful anyway,” Shiro says, softening his voice. Keith is tense, already defensive. He’ll disagree on principle unless he’s soothed. “You’ve supported me for the past couple of months. Maybe it’s not about owing, but it’d make me happy to do something for you in return.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s lips press thin. He’s always so damn reluctant to accept thanks. But finally his shoulders relax back down. “So your idea is camping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like being out in the desert, and you liked the exam before I fell. And all we need are some supplies and a place to go.” Shiro shrugs and leans back against the counter. “Whatever you think would be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Keith’s lips quirk up. “You’re such a sap.” He barrels on, ignoring Shiro’s huff. “Do we need to go anywhere?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No if you don’t want to,” Shiro admits slowly. Hopefully this isn’t Keith trying to wriggle his way out of accepting gratitude.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Keith says. “What I want to do is order pizza, and take over the living room, and watch movies or play games until stupid late. And I want to go get more of those glow in the dark stars and replace the ones in your room.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro starts to scoff, because that’s definitely not what he was thinking. But then he pauses and catches what Keith is getting at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, it’s similar to what they’ve done before. But this is specific.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is talking about a sleepover. A real, kiddie-style sleepover. Yes, Keith has spent dozens upon dozens of nights here, and they’ve stayed up late plenty of times. But they’ve never done the whole production.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a night for them to be kids before they go back to the Garrison. And given the weight of his dream knowledge and long summer, Shiro can’t deny how tempting that is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe make a blanket fort?” Shiro offers,tentative in case he’s got this wrong. “We can load up on snacks at the store, and I have that ancient video game console upstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith beams. The afternoon sunlight coming from the windows stripes over his face and catches his eyes. They shine brilliantly, both from their natural color and the lighting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart aches just looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that,” Keith says. “We can make a weekend of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as Shiro personally likes the idea, it also seems like so little after Keith has given so much. He wants to give Keith something big. Something special. But this is what he’s asked for, and Shiro has never been good at telling Keith no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure. And maybe we can fit in something else after. Rent a boat at the lake or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Keith says, but he’s clearly still giddily occupied with plans for the evening. He bounces on the balls of his feet, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a boyish sort of joy, but that’s appropriate given their plans. And it suits Keith anyway. Shiro wants to ruffle his hair or pull him in for a kiss on the cheek. To match that smile with his lips and learn how it feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The urge is familiar. But today, Shiro finds himself less inclined to pull himself back. He’s spent the last two months dealing with his grandfather’s death, recognizing everything they won’t do together or get to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does Shiro want to leave more things unsaid when he has the chance?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro reaches out and takes Keith’s hand, casual as he can manage. It’s no different from when Keith led him around while he was reeling, except without the circumstances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro just wants to. He likes the feeling of Keith’s rough palms against his own. He likes the tickle of skin in the sensitive area between his fingers. He likes the reassurance of proximity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, hey, if they’re being kids for the weekend, why not hold hands?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see what video games I still have,” Shiro says, and leads Keith back to his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a second of tension between their arms as Shiro moves but Keith doesn’t. But then he follows without comment. Shiro doesn’t acknowledge the gesture either, treating it as totally normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why not? If they want to hold hands, why shouldn’t they? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of Shiro’s game’s are ancient. Other than a couple of racing titles, he’d essentially stopped playing them by middle school. He’d always been more interested in playing outdoors, when possible. The times he was trapped indoors were usually when his arms hurt too much to go out. Playing video games alone just made him feel more isolated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the age and dust, they're able to get Shiro’s console plugged into the downstairs TV. They spend a few minutes testing out the discs. There’s a couple of single-player RPGs, those racing games, and one fighting game. It’s hardly impressive, but it’s something to do later if they’d like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next, they head to the store. The first stop is the groceries section, where they half-fill the cart with absolute junk. Popcorn, candy, chips and soda get dumped in with glee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After, they swing through the home decor section. It takes an annoying amount of time to find those little glow-in-the-dark stars, but they finally spot them in the children’s department.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Part of Shiro squirms at the odd looks they get. But today is for fun and for Keith. So fuck that.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro picks up a pack and considers how many stars it contains. Just one will be plenty to cover his room’s ceiling again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he takes a couple more and holds them up. “We could do the living room too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes, eyes wide. “You sure?” He asks. His voice doesn’t gentle, but his eyes are intense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does feel weird. Kind of wrong. Grandfather definitely wouldn’t have let Shiro cover the living room with something so silly. By the time Shiro was a teenager, he stopped replacing the stars in Shiro’s room when they inevitably stopped glowing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the house is Shiro’s now. And maybe it’s time he made it feel that way, rather than keeping it exactly how Grandfather left it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In answer, Shiro tosses the two packs into the cart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith flashes him a quick grin. As they move on, he knocks his hips encouragingly into Shiro. Shiro knocks back, just to make Keith chuckle. The noise makes Shiro’s heart swell and tells him he made the right choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it makes Keith happy, it can’t be wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’re back home, Shiro goes on a hunt for sheets and blankets while Keith puts away the perishable groceries. While searching, he also digs up twine and old binder clips to help hold the sheets up higher, given that they are not the height of young kids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pauses. Then, on impulse, he heads into his closet. Tucked away safely on a shelf is an old, well-loved stuffed dog. The same one he’d brought with him when he came to stay with his grandfather.  A token of the scared little boy who had found solace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro runs his thumb over the head, feeling the worn fabric. He takes the toy and brings it back out, setting it on his dresser with a childish pat. Then, satisfied, he grabs his supplies and slips into the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he gets back, Keith has moved into the living room. He’s brought in the tall dining room chairs and removed the coffee table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, they cover the walls in the extra packs of stars, then turn on the lights to let them charge. Then, they get started on building. Neither of them have much experience, but they’re both creative and determined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they’re finished, they’ve turned the entire living room into a blanket fort, including the TV. The inside is heavily padded with thick blankets and cushions, like the first summer Keith spent over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sprawls out, spreading his arms and legs wide. He closes his eyes and smiles, radiating contentment. His hair splays out over the blankets, dark against the light background.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s beautiful as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As good as you imagined?” Shiro asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better,” Keith says. He turns his head and smiles at Shiro, eyes molten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart clenches. He wants to trace that smile with his fingers, then chase it with his own lips. He wants to sprawl over Keith and roll them both until they’re trapped together in a cocoon of blankets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants Keith. He loves Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could do something about it. Lean down and kiss him, maybe on the forehead. Their friendship has survived two months of grief and three years of chaos. It once survived kidnappings and death. One awkward kiss won’t ruin anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro still stays frozen in place, eyes on Keith’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro?” Keith asks. He sits up. His hair is rumpled in the back, just like someone ran their fingers through it. “You okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-” Shiro blinks back into reality. “Yes. Sorry. Distracted. Ready to order food?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is stopping him from kissing Keith?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, there’s the vulnerability of exposing himself. But he’s sobbed on Keith’s shoulder. If he trusts them with that, he trusts him with a kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, there’s the strangeness of his dream. But Shiro has that future knowledge and mental years on everyone he knows. Unless he wants to find someone he’s never met before, that’ll always be an issue. Does he want to be alone forever because of that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, there’s the fact that Keith won’t respond, and that will hurt. But he’s not doing this with the expectation that Keith will return his feelings. It’s just because Shiro doesn’t feel like hiding it anymore. Keith should know he’s loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The real reason is inertia. Shiro has spent years, now and in the dream, avoiding these feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An object at rest wants to stay at rest. One of the basic rules of physics. Shiro has been stalled for so long. It’s not so easy to get moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pizza,” Shiro says, focusing yet again. He gives Keith an awkward smile. “Sorry, I keep getting lost in thought. I’m here now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith reaches out and grabs Shiro below the elbow, careful to avoid his cuff. “Hey. If this is too much we can put the living room back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, he thinks the problem is grief. Shiro shakes his head and smiles. “No, it’s fine. Really, it is.” It helps that this is all temporary. Silly and childish, and they can put it all back before they leave next week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith searches Shiro’s face but finally nods. “Okay. Meat lover’s for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously, you carnivore.” Shiro squirms out of the blanket fort with only one glance back. Keith watches him go, head cocked and deliciously rumpled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro swallows and focuses on ordering pizza so he doesn’t do anything truly stupid. A kiss is one thing. Actually throwing himself at Keith might make things awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once pizza is ordered, Shiro takes a few more seconds to compose himself. He doesn’t really have a plan for speaking up, but he knows that this moment is wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he feels ready, Shiro climbs back in. They’ve made a fairly impressive fort between them, tall enough to sit up and include most of the living room. But between the support chairs and the couch, they still have to smush up together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that Shiro is complaining. He soaks up the heat that Keith puts off, relishes in the simple, trusting intimacy of their proximity. It’s a gift Keith has offered him often, pressed together as they study or run simulations or just talk. But it’s not one Shiro ever takes for granted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Shiro says. “We have games and we have movies. Which first?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith considers, then picks up the cartridge for Shiro’s racing game. “When was the last time you played this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nose crinkled, Shiro thinks about it. He’d most played it on his own, because at the time he still had hand twitches and he didn’t want to crash and be embarrassed. So that would have been... around twelve or thirteen?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Six years, I think,” Shiro says. “I don’t think I ever got very good at it. It’s nothing like the sims.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Keith says. “I’ve never played it. You won’t have that big an advantage.” He jams the cartridge into the console and brings over both controllers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It goes disastrously, obviously. The skills of correctly flying planes and cars have nothing to do with mashing on the controllers. Halfway through, both of them trail far behind the pack of AI racers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro manages to limp along, mostly from old memories of the game. He’s not doing amazing, but at least he’s driving. Keith, on the other hand, gets blown up and then slams into the corner of two walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It helps if you drive,” Shiro informs him, in the exact same tone he uses to help Adam with calculus.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith narrows his eyes, then reaches over with one hand to smash randomly over Shiro’s controller. When Shiro yelps, he catches his eyes and </span>
  <em>
    <span>smirks.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, it’s on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, it devolves. Eventually enough of the AI racers finish up that the round ends automatically. In the next race, neither of them care at all about winning, and instead focus on using items to screw each other over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro howls as Keith sets up a fire hazard behind his own cart, completely blocking Shiro’s path. He tries to swerve around it, and in the process goes off the track and slows horribly. “No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha ha,” Keith says, grinning with all his teeth. There’s a bit too much fang to his smile, but Shiro doesn’t comment on it, even when Keith takes one hand off the controller to flick him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Shiro jams his fingers under Keith’s raised arm and tickles his armpit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith screeches and immediately starts to kick. But Shiro is prepared and braces against the blow like one of their spars. Then he rolls over, completely abandoning the game in favor of pinning Keith for more tickling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith squirms spiritedly under him, snapping at the open air. “I’m going to kick your stupid ass!” He snarls. To an outsider, he’d look legitimately pissed. But Shiro knows Keith. His eyes are bright and he’s making no move to strike. It’s all play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which means Shiro is perfectly content to stay right on top of him and stick his tongue out. “You want to cheat? I’ll show you cheating.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t cheating!” Keith bucks hard, nearly sending Shiro off of him. But the slick, blanket coated floor doesn’t give him enough leverage and he goes back down hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead he reaches up and tickles Shiro’s side instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tries to hold back his laughter, but he physically can’t. It bursts out of him until he loses his balance and collapses down on top of Keith, who grunts from impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squirming, Shiro tries to get up, but Keith gives him no quarter. Instead, they just end up more tangled, until they’re nose to nose. Keith’s legs are wrapped around Shiro’s hips, keeping him in place and slotting them together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They are very, very close together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s giggles stop and his eyes snap open. For the first time, he recognizes that their breath mingles in hot, humid bursts, and that he can see the individual strands of color in Keith’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re lips are barely two inches apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Shiro stills, Keith does too. He freezes, and his eyes lock onto Shiro’s as the position registers to him as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them move. Shiro can feel Keith’s rapid heartbeat against his own chest, and knows Keith can feel his own. Keith’s breathing stops, no longer brushing over Shiro’s lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is the wrong moment. This isn’t how Shiro wants to express himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith is so close and his lips look so soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s breath catches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorbell rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s head turns toward the sound automatically. The break in the intense eye contact is enough to bring Shiro reeling back to reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pizza,” Keith says. He’s a little breathless, no doubt from their tussling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods. “Right,” he says, and his own voice is collected, thank fuck. He climbs off and squirms toward the break in the sheets. “I’ve got it. I’ll bring plates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith snorts, because he knows Shiro is going to get himself a fork and knife too (as if it’s a bad thing to avoid greasy hands). “Alright. I’ll pack this up, yeah?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pack up-?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right, the game they’d abandoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good plan. You can pick a movie.” They won’t be playing while eating pizza, that’s for sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now outside the fort, Shiro takes a deep breath of the cooler air, then shakes his head. Stupid. He’s going to do this right, because Keith deserves it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The break to retrieve the pizza does Shiro good. He’s able to focus and think with his head. Just because Keith is pretty doesn’t mean Shiro should shoot them both in the foot and do something stupid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets plates (and yes, his utensils), then climbs back in. Keith has pulled up an older adventure movie, which Shiro vaguely recalls enjoying as a kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They settle in to eat, and neither of them comment on the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why should they? For Keith, it was just an awkward position. Shiro’s the one who has his head on backward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After they finish the pizza, the boxes are put away in the fridge and they break out the chips and soda instead. The movie is silly but watchable, so the time goes by fast. The next movie is stupid in a hilarious way, and they enjoy riffing on both the SFX and the substandard space battles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end, Shiro is a little disappointed they didn’t make it a drinking game, but not enough to actually fix the issue. The blankets have wound up tangled around them both, with the mound of pillows as a backrest. They’re pressed together, shoulders to hips, casual and intimate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nothing new. But given what Shiro’s been building to, he can’t help but fixate. It’s so hard to care what the chiseled protagonist grunts about when Keith’s thigh is pressed against his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the second movie ends, Keith stretches, both arms over his head until they brush the top of their fort. His back arches with the casual flexibility of a cat. “Games again next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want,” Shiro says. He watches Keith in the cool light of the TV. Their fort creates the illusion of a tiny, private space. A little world with just the two of them. He can only barely hear the crickets outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, what do you want to do?” Keith asks. He tilts his head back as he looks over his shoulder, making his hair drape back. He hasn’t cut it all summer, so he’s a couple of inches past regulation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looks good on him, just like it did in the dream. There’s a bit of curl, just enough that it looks silky and touchable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not the perfect moment. But in this quiet little home of blankets and pillows, it’s close enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith frowns, a little furrow appearing between his brows. “Is that a game or a movie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither.” Shiro takes a deep breath and steels himself, but he’s started this and he’s committed now. “This summer has been hell. I don’t know what I would have done without you. So thank you, Keith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s cheeks go pink. He looks down at his lap. “I barely did anything. You would have managed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not half as well. Trust me, I would have done whatever the easiest, least-thinking option was, not what was right for me or for Grandfather’s legacy.” Shiro reaches out and puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “You saved me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No way, I-” Keith finally catches Shiro’s eyes, then freezes. The color on his cheeks darkens, no doubt from the sincerely. “Okay. Fine. But you saved me first when you reached out to be friends. I would have been miserable at the Garrison without you. So we saved each other. No thanks needed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m saying it anyway.” Shiro hesitates, then lets his hand drift up to Keith’s jaw. He runs his thumb over the soft skin of Keith’s cheek. There’s just the barest rasp of hair, but like peach fuzz.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(It might be fur, but Shiro has no intention of making a fuss.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate all you did to support me over the past few weeks. It couldn’t have been easy for you, but you were there for all of it. Including-” Shiro’s voice cracks. He blinks hard against the swell of remembered emotion. “Grandfather’s last moments. That means the world to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t look away from Shiro’s intense gaze, though his eyes flicker like he’s tempted. He folds his hands into his lap and just barely leans into the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As if I’d be anywhere else,” Keith finally says. His voice is quiet but steady.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” Shiro smiles, full of genuine warmth. “That’s the kind of person you are. You’re so kind and so loyal. I admire you so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes widen. His lips part in confusion, and Shiro’s eyes snap onto them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just admire,” Shiro continues. He leans forward, voice getting softer with each word. “I love...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their lips connect. The barest brush of skin on skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pulls back before Keith can react.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t- obviously. We’re friends. Best friends. That’s great! I don’t have any expectations. But you’re wonderful, Keith, and I just... I want you to know you’re loved. In this way. In a lot of ways. You don’t have to do anything, but I just wanted to say-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cuts off with a squeak as Keith grabs hold of the front of his shirt, hard enough to drag him down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Keith slams their lips together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up,” Keith mumbles, right into Shiro’s mouth. The vibrations against his lips makes Shiro whimper. Then Keith grabs Shiro by the back of the head and arches up into him, going back to the kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kiss. They’re kissing. Right now. Which Keith started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gasps, extremely belatedly. His hands scramble against Keith’s front until he finds his hips and holds on. Then he can lean in and close his eyes, giving as good as he’s getting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s clumsy and messy. Shiro has no experience outside of his dreams, and Keith probably doesn’t either. The tips of their noses brush, and the pressure is probably too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But holy shit, Shiro doesn’t care. Because it’s Keith whose teeth brush against his lips, Keith whose nails dig into the back of his head, Keith who is pulling him down like he wants to suffocate into the kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith, it turns out, kisses like a wildcat. Shiro, it turns out, is really into that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they pull back, they’re both gasping. Kissing didn’t technically stop them from breathing, but the sheer shock and intensity of it had certainly fucked up Shiro’s airflow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes a deep breath. A thousand thoughts clamor to be the first to come out - another love confession, giddy acknowledgement, flowery prose about how wonderful Keith is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What comes out is, “I thought you were aromantic!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith licks his lips (which are red from the pressure and entirely distracting.) “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Shiro blushes. Of all the damn things to start with... “You said... you didn’t. See people that way. I thought...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Keith’s cheeks go red too. “I said that ages ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember pretty much everything you tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blush deepens. “Oh my god.” Keith lets go of Shiro and collapses back into the pillow pile. He brings up both hands to cover his face. “You can’t just say that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it’s true. I like knowing things about you.” Shiro cracks a grin and leans down to kiss over Keith’s protective fingers. When Keith parts them to peek through, he kisses his forehead too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith groans. “You’re a sap,” he says, but his voice is only delighted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Clearly. Haven’t you been paying attention?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith lets out a noise suspiciously close to a giggle. “I have, actually.” He finally drops his hands, though his cheeks are still bright red. “I don’t usually. See people that way. Except you. I have for a long time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of Shiro immediately tries to recategorize that information. Gray-ace, maybe? Demi? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of him could not give a fuck, if it means Keith actually likes him back. Or if Keith keeps looking up at him with that warm sincerity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too. For years.” Shiro’s eyes brighten with mischief. He smiles down at Keith. “For longer than I’ve even known you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes go wide. He stares up at Shiro, blank-faced. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro laughs, giddy, stupid delight filling him. “Maybe we’re soulmates,” he says, dramatically thickening his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Keith groans. He pushes a hand into Shiro’s face, covering his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro, still in the mood for mischief and high on the moment, licks his palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes. His eyes go wide and his pupils visibly dilate, even in the dim lighting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Huh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is... a lot for right now. Five minutes ago, Shiro didn’t even think Keith wanted him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith finally drops his hands. “I, um... me too. Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like a brother,” Shiro says, because he’s an idiot, but also because he needs to hear it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning, Keith stares at him. “I made out with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, point.” Shiro cocks his head at Keith, then smiles. Beams. “You love me. I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s blush returns, covering nearly his entire face. “Yeah.” He smiles back like he physically can’t help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So of course Shiro can’t help leaning down and kissing him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They get back to the movies or games that night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s fine. They have all week to watch and play.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or other things.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Their final year at the Garrison begins with an air of breathless anticipation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This year, they have classes and final projects, yes. But most importantly, they have junior missions: Real, actual flights with non-instructor Garrison officers where they have real goals and stakes. No more simulations, no more test flights. The real thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, ‘the real thing’ means things like ‘supply mission to the moon base’ or ‘ride along on a Mars transport.’ But it’s still real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s also deeply competitive. The missions that accept cadets are limited, and there are few among those that are remotely interesting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t worry about it. Mostly, anyway. He’ll get the missions he gets, and if that means a few boring ones over the next year or two, it’s not the end of the world. His scores are good enough to prove he can fly whatever’s needed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, Keith isn’t at the Garrison because he’s ambitious. He’s never wanted to stand out and climb the ladder. He just wants to fly - and to be around when it’s time to reveal the Blue Lion, if it comes to that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That is a distinctly uncommon attitude among the cadets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of the first week, Keith is thoroughly sick of everyone comparing the same fucking missions and who applied to what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is not more tolerable when it comes from his boyfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(A word which still gives Keith a thrill.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pair of them head back to Keith’s dorm from dinner, side-by-side. They don’t hold hands or link arms or anything so obvious, but Keith still feels like their newly dating status should be obvious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, no one has so much as blinked at them, even when they do show minor affection. Apparently everyone else in their year already thought they were dating. Even Matt and Adam barely reacted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t say he cares what other people think, but something that feels so momentous seems like it should get an equally large reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even if Keith wanted to hold hands and be public with their affection, he couldn’t. Because Shiro’s are full of mission statements.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just about getting the missions either,” Shiro laments, as he flips through the papers. Not all of them are even cadet missions, so who even knows why he has them. “It’s about building the right experience for the future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Compared to most cadets, Shiro has more reason than most to worry. His disease puts a ticking clock over his head, and Keith understands why he feels so compelled to push himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t make it more tolerable to listen to his constant fretting, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t even explain why Shiro shouldn’t worry about his missions or his health. Even if he could, he can’t guarantee his memories are real. It would be cruel to bring it up if he can’t be sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll come together. They know how good you are. They’d be an idiot to pick anyone else,” Keith says. He opens the door to his dorm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro follows in. “That’s just it, though. There’s so many talented people in our classes.” Keith bites back his disagreement. “And there’s not going to be any hard feelings between the two of us, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes, actually stunned by the words. But Shiro’s gaze is steady and direct.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When have we ever been hurt by some competition?” Keith sits down on his bed and frowns. “At least, I thought so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We haven’t.” Shiro lifts both hands, palms splayed. “I haven’t, I mean. It’s just... the stakes are higher now, and we’re dating, so I wasn’t sure...” He groans and grips at his bangs. “I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, okay, this has gone on long enough. Keith reaches across the space and grabs Shiro by that ugly orange jacket. He pulls him in until he stumbles to the bed and sits down as well. After a moment, Shiro wobbles and falls forward so he’s laying over Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weight drags them both down, but Keith is obviously not complaining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to be mad if you succeed,” Keith says. “And I don’t think you will either.” He hopes. He remembers Shiro’s hot-and-cold attitude around the Black Lion, but that had been an emotionally complex situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro huffs hot air against Keith’s neck, which sends a jolt through him. It’s not that different from their usual hugs, but just the knowledge that Keith is allowed to touch charges even this simple moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I worry,” Shiro admits, as if it’s a deep secret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Keith replies back, smiling. “I do too. But not about this. I believe in us both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s so much else to worry about. The universe. The Galra, and if they’d follow the same script as last time. If his memories are even accurate. He’s not prepared to care about a future at the Garrison, not when he doesn’t really believe he’ll stay on Earth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums. “Good. You shouldn’t. I’d turn my brain off for a while if I could.” He turns and kisses Keith’s cheek, gentle and sweet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gesture, combined with the words, makes Keith’s cheeks flame. It’s tempting to match Shiro’s lips and deepen the kiss. Touch in ways that’ll give Shiro exactly what he wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they haven’t. Shiro hasn’t made any moves toward it aside from some petting while they kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Keith is hesitating. He’s still not sure this is a good idea, not when he has his extra memories. If Shiro finds out, he’ll be upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smart thing might have been to push him away. But Keith can’t imagine turning down Shiro if he’s actually offering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s still baffling that Shiro wants this. Wants Keith. It suggests the reason Shiro never wanted him last time around was because of the ages they met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith isn’t sure if that’s comforting or distressing, actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, guilt and his own inexperience stop Keith before he can turn his wants into action. Instead, he rubs his fingers through Shiro’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about we do something distracting, then?” Keith says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Shiro pushes himself up onto his forearms. He smiles, slow and soft, his still black bangs falling into his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn him, because he’s adorable and he fucking knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s morals waiver. At some point, they’re going to shatter and Keith will have no one to blame but himself (and Shiro’s pretty smile.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That moment is not tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to go to my place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks and looks around the bare, Spartan room. “This is your room,” he reminds, as if Keith could have forgotten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean..” Keith gestures toward the window and the desert beyond. “My place. The house.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh!” Shiro sits up properly so he’s no longer boxing Keith in. “Tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a fair question, mostly because it’s a school night. Keith shrugs. “Why not?” He wants out of this building. The day of the week doesn’t really make a difference.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles back softly. “Why not,” he repeats, as confirmation rather than a question. He gives Keith another peck, then backs off respectfully. “I can bring the mission briefs and we can talk about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Absolutely not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes shine with mischief, proof he was teasing. “Mm, if you insist.” He climbs off the bed, then glances back. “You know, it’ll be quicker if we only get one hoverbike. Less sneaking around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which means they’ll have to share. Which would involve being cuddled up as they hold on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smirks. “You’re right. It’s more efficient and it saves fuel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro beams back, and they’re both suppressing their laughter as they head out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is, indeed, easier to sneak out just one bike, especially since it’s still daylight. In the chaos, no one notices one bike heading out. Keith drives since he knows the way to the shack far better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, he enjoys having Shiro behind him, a solid warmth that covers his entire back. The press of a smile against the skin of his neck and powerful arms around his waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tests that grip as they race through the desert, shadows lengthening as the sun dips behind the rock formations. The sky goes from bright colors to soothing cool tones. The stars shine through, and the moon rises, lighting their way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there’s anything better on this planet than riding at night with Shiro, Keith doesn’t know it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take long for them to arrive. Keith does a quick loop around and sighs when he sees one of the windows is cracked. The old place wasn’t really critter-proof already, but now sand is really going to get in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro makes a sympathetic noise, his chin resting on Keith’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s not good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Inevitable, given that it’s just been sitting out here.” Even so, Keith’s stomach twists with guilt. Pops would have a lot to say if he could see the state of this place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been with me instead,” Shiro says, quiet acknowledgement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith parks the bike so he can turn and stare up at Shiro, jaw set fiercely. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Especially not for some window.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles, though his eyes are hooded. “I know.” He leans in and kisses Keith’s cheek, just the barest brush of his lips. There’s grit to the kiss - their skin is sandy from the drive over. “We can work on it together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s not a lot of supplies here,” Keith admits, though his hands settle on Shiro’s hips. “And I’m not sure how much you know about home repair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can learn,” Shiro says, lip jutting out in that familiar pout. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is struck by the sudden realization that he can kiss that pout. Anytime he wants. So he does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro breaks off with a smile. “If I keep getting rewarded for it, I could get very handy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could try,” Keith says, which makes Shiro go right back to pouting. “That still doesn’t handle the supplies. It’ll take more than a tool box to put this place back together. Half the furniture needs to be replaced, probably. Or at least treated for pests.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shrugs, his gaze sliding away to the house. “I can help.” When Keith stiffens, he goes on. “It’s not like I’m hurting for money. Grandfather’s house is payed off, and all I need to worry about is taxes and the occasional upkeep. He’d approve of using the money for this, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s not really an answer for that. Keith isn’t sure if it’s true or if Shiro is just saying it to soothe him. Either way, it’s working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can come out here for fall break,” Shiro continues. “Rent a truck, bring a few things. Maybe a tent or a blow up mattress. Spend a long weekend working on getting it cleaned up. This place is yours. Let’s take care of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gratitude warms Keith from his stomach outward. The idea of having this place up and running again makes his throat tight. For the first time, he understands why Shiro was so desperate to thank him during the summer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he says. Keith takes Shiro’s hand and squeezes it, because the emotions in him need some place to go. “I’d like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s reason enough,” Shiro says. He leans in and kisses Keith’s temple, then finally climbs off the bike. “So, why did you want to come here, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs, because he hadn’t really had a coherent reason. Just getting out of the Garrison had been the goal, and this was a destination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thankfully, Shiro doesn’t mind his lack of a response. Instead he just follows Keith into the shack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As predicted, the floor is covered with a layer of sand. All the old electronics on the shelf are scattered with sand as well, which means they’ll have to be cleaned out carefully or else Keith will need to finally dump them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he thinks of all the hours Pops spent fiddling with them, eyes on the skies, and can’t bring himself to really toss those out, even if they are useless junk now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The couch is in worse condition than usual. Keith had been hoping to keep it too, but that’s probably not likely. If it’s not infested, it’ll still take far more effort than the old thing is worth to get the sand out of the fabric.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All in all, though, the sand has just made the place dirty. The door to the bedroom was closed, so it seems to have mostly stayed intact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith opens the door and steps inside. He takes a deep breath, but he smells nothing but desert air - nothing of Pops remains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another surge of grief runs through him, but it’s distant. An ache he’s long since come to terms with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith heads to the drawers and pulls them open. The clothes inside are still folded neatly - not from Pops, but from whoever had gone through his effects and chosen what to leave in the shack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only takes a few seconds to pull out Pops’ old uniform. The familiar clothes ache, not just from the memories of his father, but of another time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he holds them out to Shiro. “I bet these would fit you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes them, eyes wide. His thumbs run over the old fabric. He’s probably testing the feel of it, but his frown is thoughtful and distant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was your father’s?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. But it’s just sitting here, right? Better for someone to wear them, and I doubt I’ll ever be Pop’s size. Looks like you are, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro swallows hard. He looks torn, which does make sense. Wearing his boyfriend’s dead father’s clothes might be a stage too weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Keith shouldn’t have said anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can take it back, Shiro takes a deep breath. “Alright.” He starts to unbutton his jacket, then glances up through his bangs. “Um...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cocks his head, confused, because he was the one to ask Shiro to try on the clothes. Then he realizes Shiro wants privacy to change. “Oh! Yeah. Sorry.” He heads for the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t...” Shiro blushes and looks down at his feet, shifting from foot to foot. “I mean, you can stay. If you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith swallows hard. But that’s probably a step too far for their two week old relationship, and he still has stuff in his head to work out. “Uh, thank you?” Fuck, what a lame thing to say. “But you can... I’ll see when you come out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Keith ducks out, his cheeks burning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t tell if he’s doing the right thing or being a chicken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shortly after, Shiro steps out. He tugs on the sleeve of the uniform thoughtfully, then gives Keith a thin smile. He holds out both arms and does a slow spin. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The uniform fits Shiro well. Better than last time around, actually - it isn’t straining to contain him. Instead, it fits like normal clothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite being his father’s clothes, Keith can’t help the twist of his stomach or the way his eyes drag up and down greedily. He’s allowed to look this time. This is a version of Shiro he can ogle and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>touch.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Guilt twinges again, because Keith shouldn’t be dressing Shiro up as another version of himself just to relieve fantasies he can’t know about. This is definitely wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it looks very, very good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tugs on the sleeve again - the right, both times. The fabric is only barely long enough to cover his cuffs, and he’s probably trying to keep them covered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No good?” He asks, giving a dry smile. “I get the sexy firefighter thing, but it’s probably different with your dad’s clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t ruin this for me,” Keith says. He crooks his fingers, summoning Shiro closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a puppy on a leash, Shiro obediently follows, and damn if that isn’t a thrill. With and without that particular outfit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro slides in close, his hands finding Keith’s hips. “I assumed the moment was pre-ruined,” Shiro admitted, giving a thin smile. He looks a little pale, but it’s probably the moonlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look good in black,” Keith says. “And I saw a lot of big guys in that outfit, not just Pops.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had a thing for older men, did you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart stops. Then he catches Shiro’s smug smile and his mind catches up. “You’re barely half a year older than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three-quarters,” Shiro sing-songs, as if that’s ever mattered at all. “You’re a black widow. Taking in older men for their fortunes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, shut up.” Keith kisses Shiro, because he can and because it’s the best way to stop him from talking. It works too, because Shiro immediately melts into him, making a soft noise in the back of his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith loves it. He loves how eager Shiro is, and how he kisses like each contact is a pleasant new surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d be smug about it, even, except he’s sure he’s doing the same thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pulls away. His eyes are molten as he looks over Keith’s face. He brushes his knuckles down Keith’s cheek, apparently just for the sensation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, Keith is so weak. Every time he thinks he has a handle on these feelings, Shiro does something so fucking sweet or cute or sexy and all his qualms go straight out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro continues to touch over Keith’s face, apparently fascinated. He runs the pad of his finger down the sharp curve of Keith’s nose, across his lips, to the tip of his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re beautiful,” Shiro says. A smile curls his face, apparently satisfied just from getting to voice his thoughts aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” Keith says, and hides his face in Shiro’s chest. He can’t hide his smile, but the words still make him squirm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro chuckles and hugs him close. “You are, but okay.” He rests his cheek on top of Keith’s head and settles in, apparently perfectly comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s fingers dig into the back of Shiro’s shirt. The texture of the fabric is familiar, not just from Pop, but from the other set of memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looks up, he sees the dark bangs, the lack of a scar, and the warm eyes of someone who wants him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keth is so very, very fucking weak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning up, Keith kisses Shiro hard. He cups either side of his jaw, holding him in place. Shiro immediately opens his mouth to the frantic press.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a yes on the uniform?” Shiro manages, in the brief space their lips aren’t otherwise occupied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a yes to you,” Keith shoots back, and then stops them both from talking for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They end up on the couch, despite how grimy it is. Keith sits in Shiro’s lap, less because of their size and more because he’s still in the uniform he needs to keep clean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look good in black too,” Shiro says, as his fingers trace up and down Keith’s sides. There’s no impatience to the gesture, just idly learning the shape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brows jump up. It reminds him uncomfortably of old arguments, but obviously that’s not what Shiro means. “How often do you see me in black?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your hair. And you have that t-shirt,” Shiro points out, like he’s insulted Keith thinks he wouldn’t know all his clothes. “And these.” He winds his fingers between Keith’s, and raises their hands up to showcase the fingerless gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alright, fair enough. Keith shrugs. “You wear it more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t make me own the color.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying you’re hot in black, Shiro. It’s not a competition where you have to prop me up.” Keith frowns down at him, both brows raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro manages a smile, though he wilts under Keith’s intense stare. “You said earlier that competition won’t hurt us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant when you’re confident and successful, not talking ourselves down.” Keith keeps his stare, completely serious. “Shiro. Don’t use me as a way to minimize yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was just saying you look good,” Shiro protests. But his eyes slide away, because it’s what he was doing. The Garrison’s zero-sum-game mentality sunk into him at some point in both his lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith kisses his forehead. “We can succeed together. And we can look good in black together. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s hesitates before meeting his gaze again. There’s something considering in his gaze, almost calculated. But a moment later it’s gone, replaced by a warm smile. “I guess we can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was on his mind? A mission, maybe? Before Keith can figure out what Shiro was thinking about, he’s kissing Keith again and it becomes far, far less important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want after this?” Shiro asks, after several delightful minutes of kissing later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” Keith blinks at the couch, trying to reset his brain from Shiro’s mouth and hands and back to a conversation. “Go back to the Garrison? Thursday classes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean...” Shiro gestures vaguely through the air, as if that’ll clue Keith in. “After all this. Graduation. What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. That’s a good question. Something they should probably discuss in more specific terms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Graduation has always been a distant goal. Something to aim toward, but that Keith only half thought of as real. After all, Voltron happens just a couple of years later. But that might not happen, and even if it does, there’s a long time in between.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missions?” Keith winces at the vague answer. “I don’t know. Definitely not instructing. I’d die. But being an emergency response pilot would be nice, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, now that he thinks about it, emergency piloting is ideal. Those are short, sudden missions that happen irregularly, so Keith won’t get bored with a routine too fast. They require sharp flying, often through less than ideal flight patterns. It requires being fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As far as being a pilot goes, it’s the most like what the Blades did after the war. And, privately, Keith thinks it’s the Garrison version of a job like his Pop’s. Helping people. Providing rescue and supplies. That sounds nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s smile softens, clearly on the same page. “That’d be great for you. But those are pretty short missions. You don’t want something longer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, personally? That’s not really my strength.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re great no matter what you fly,” Shiro says, utterly sincere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith squints, because he’s not sure Shiro isn’t doing the subtle-putting-himself-down thing. But Shiro just seems confident, so he lets it go. “Yeah, but it’s not my favorite thing. I guess experimental planes are fun, but it requires so much recording and check ins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuckling, Shiro inclines his head. “Yeah, that wouldn’t be your favorite. What about long term flights? Something special.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Now Keith gets what Shiro’s going on about. He’s been looking at missions outside of the cadet-friendly ones everyone’s seen. He’s probably seeing current information gathering missions and putting things together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Timeline wise, Kerberos mission applications might start soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s stomach squirms. That mission starts everything, but it’s also the beginning of a terrible time in Shiro’s life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he can’t say a thing about it. Not yet, not until he figures out a better way. Adam had tried to stop Shiro for mundane reasons, so Shiro had broken up with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith would try it if it would help, but Shiro had gone anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, it’s the start of Voltron. The first puzzle piece that starts off what saves the universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Can Keith sacrifice of year of Shiro’s life to Galra captivity and torture for the good of literally everyone else?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not a decision he has to make tonight. Which is good, because Keith is terrified the answer is ‘no’.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t really care about that,” Keith admits, because it’s true and Shiro is waiting for an answer. “I don’t want my name in a history book or to do the stupid press tours. I just want to fly. Maybe help some people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s smile softens, though his gaze is a little rueful. “Yeah, you don’t. You never have.” His expression cracks, showing worry below. “Does it bother you that I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ambitious? You? Takashi Shirogane?” Keith arches his brows up and gives Shiro a flat, unimpressed stare. “Say it isn’t so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s cheeks go pink. He leans back against the couch, which shakes more sand free. He makes a face but continues on. “Seriously. Does it bother you? Those missions tend to be long term. Months. Half a year. No contact for long periods of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. Alright, Keith can see why this could be a problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you be happy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stills, as if the question stuns him. He looks down at their laps, brow furrowed in thought. His fingers tap against Keith’s sides. “I think... I think I would be content. And I would be miserable if I didn’t try. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t reach for his cuffs. He doesn’t need to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Shiro’s head. His hair is sandy from the couch. “Then I’m okay with it. I’ll miss you, and we’ll celebrate before we leave and when you come back.” He grips Shiro’s upper arms. “You just have to promise to come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s voice cracks on the last words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s head snaps up. He stares at Keith until his expression softens. “I’ll always come back to you. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pressing their foreheads together, Keith reminds himself that it’s true. Shiro always does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” He gives a dry chuckle, trying to break the intense moment. “You know, I didn’t even think about after graduation until now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith!” Shiro stares at him, mouth open. “You need to. You’re good enough to get any position you want, but you have to be ready to take opportunities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs, mostly because he knows it’ll drive Shiro crazy. It earns him a pout. “I’ll keep an eye out, I promise. And that’s what I have you here, too. You can be ambitious for us.” His smile softens. “My life would be a lot different if it weren’t for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words come out before he can think them through. Keith doesn’t take them back. They’re just as true now as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stills completely, lips parted. Then he pulls Keith into a crushing hug. “You’d be amazing no matter what. I’m honored to be there to watch. As long as I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing to say to that. Nothing that Keith can say to promise or soothe that wouldn’t be cruel. So instead he just holds Shiro back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stay out far later than they should. They’ll pay for it tomorrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at this moment, that doesn’t matter. In the long term, it doesn’t either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They need this more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m so ready for tonight!” Matt declares, stretching his arms out behind him. He nearly swipes Shiro with the gesture, but he ducks away with as much dignity as he can. “We’ve earned some fun after all this bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All we’ve been doing is filling out applications,” Adam points out. Despite that, the bags under his eyes are noticeable. He’s finally lost the dark, chunky glasses - replaced after a standard optometrist visit rather than a speeder accident. They’re narrow and more flattering, but still have a dark frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Shiro clings to the little differences.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Matt says, unbothered. “So we deserve a night on the town, obviously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...They’re going out? Tonight?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith frowns, slipping his hands into his pockets. He glances at Shiro, who shrugs back. He doesn’t remember making those plans. “What night out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt and Adam pause and share glances. There’s a clear exchange between them, a rapid fire series of grimaces, before Adam turns back to look at Shiro and Keith. “Sorry, yeah. We made plans. But it’s the first week of the bus route starting up, and we assumed you guys would want to go out. You know. Together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, the four of them don’t usually go out so early in the year, but it has been a stressful time. But why are they being so weird about-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Matt and Adam made their own plans. Because they assumed Shiro and Keith would be going out together. On a date.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Shiro didn’t even think of that. Shit. This was the kind of crap that got him in trouble with Adam in the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tenses and turns to Keith, half-expecting the same sort of recrimination he would have gotten with Adam. Instead, Keith looks just as stunned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay. Good. They’re both idiots, then.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a bad idea,” Shiro says, offering Keith a smile. “I’m impressed you two came up with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Adam huffs. “You’re the idiots who didn’t think of a date on your own. Don’t go making comments about other people’s intelligence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt nods and adjusts his grip on his bag. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure our entire year is going out. You’re the only two who didn’t think about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scowling, Keith crosses his arms. But his defensiveness doesn’t have any real teeth. He’s probably embarrassed he didn’t think of a date, same as Shiro. “It’s not like we’re used to this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, you two have been dating since way longer than you’ve been dating.” Matt waves Keith off. “No excuses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t even make sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro watches the argument, a small, smug little smile curling at his lips. “You guys were thinking about a night out. I was having better ideas.” He pauses, because now Adam and Matt are both watching him suspiciously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence holds. Finally, Adam groans and rubs his forehead. “Alright, you clearly want to brag. Spill. What’s this genius idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just my future,” Shiro says. He pauses and pulls his bag off his bag so he can dig through. He pulls out a few papers and holds them out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt snatches them up and wrinkles his nose. “More mission briefs? Yeah, brainiac, everyone’s been reading this. What-” He finally pauses, eyes going wide. “Where did you get this? I didn’t see this mission.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Adam leans over to read it as well. His brow furrows. “Earth orbit... Argo Mark VII...This wasn’t on any of the cadet missions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Standard Argo engines are still on Mark VI,” Shiro says, rocking back on his heels. He waits for it to sink in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it does, Matt curses and throws the brief back at Shiro. It hits him in the chest and all his papers go everywhere. Shiro makes no move to pick them up, too busy grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This</span>
  <em>
    <span> isn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> a cadet mission,” Matt hisses, low enough that no other student will hear them. “This isn’t even close to a cadet mission. It’s a test flight of the new engine class!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shrugs, mostly because he knows it’ll drive Matt wild. He catches Keith’s eyes, who smirks back. He hadn’t known exactly what Shiro was doing, but he’d seen him working enough to have figured it out. “They need a pilot. I’m a pilot. Why not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because-” Adam cuts off and shakes his head. He bends down to pick up the papers, mostly so he can keep reading them. “We’re not even graduated. Someone else is going to get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing special,” Shiro says, still downright cheery. He’d spent hours and hours searching through mission briefings to find this. “Just a minor upgrade. We’re trained in the Mark V and VI. It’s a boring mission for a full officer. Why not a cadet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most importantly, it sets a precedent. It shows the pilot can adapt quickly and smoothly. It shows a cool head under risk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kerberos looms. Shiro doesn’t know what to do with it yet, but he’ll be ready no matter what. He’s not going to shoot his limited career in the foot just because of the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you tell us this now?” Matt groans. He sits down in the middle of the hallway, like a toddler about to have a tantrum. “The bus leaves in an hour.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Applications close Monday morning,” Shiro says, his smile softening. He could drag this out and ruin Matt’s fun, but why bother? “And this mission calls for two engineers, a pilot, and a communications officer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt’s eyes shine. He launches himself forward and wraps Shiro in a fierce hug around his neck. He has to physically jump to reach, and he hangs off Shiro like a koala. “Yes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he finishes up picking up the papers, Adam arches his brow at them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives him a smile back. “I held onto it, but I wasn’t going to keep it from you guys. You deserve a chance too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah,” Keith says. He watches Matt cling limply with open amusement, thankfully. The confidence is a good look on him (everything is a good look on him.) “A slow, boring Earth orbit flight? No thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam presses his lips thin. “I think I will,” he says, chin up like he expects Shiro to be upset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously he’s not going to get that. Instead, Shiro reaches around Matt’s limp body to offer his hand. “Good luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too.” Adam shakes firmly, his gaze steady. He looks so much like the dream that Shiro has to swallow hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of them are kids anymore, are they? They’re about to graduate. Become officers. Go out into the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Make choices that could hurt them. Kill them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Adam has that right, same as Shiro did when he signed up for Kerberos the first time around. Matt had too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright. C’mon, Holt, we need to change and get ready to go.” Adam prodes Matt in the spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt whines. “Actually, I take it back. Shiro is comfy. He can come with, screw their date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him, Keith narrows his eyes. Then he steps forward and grabs Matt by the sides. He easily lifts him up and off of Shiro, until he hangs in the air like an errant kitten. Keith sets him down firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, you been working out?” Matt prodes Keith’s arm. “You’re strong for such a little guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m bigger than you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Details.” Matt waves the comment off. “Yeah, okay. Change of clothes! Night on the town! A fun time! Then work when we get back.” He heads off at a determined march, waving over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam follows with a bland smile. He nods to Shiro in thanks, his gaze serious for a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, Shiro could have kept the mission to himself. It’s a risk to invite more competition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if there’s a chance, Shiro is going to offer it to his friends. Otherwise, did he really earn it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sides up to him. “Just because Matt and Adam assumed doesn’t mean I have any expectations,” he says, very serious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Keith’s head, despite being in public. It makes his stomach flip, but that’s a small price to pay for the sheer joy of kissing Keith. “No, it doesn’t. But I’d like to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would too.” Keith smiles back, cheeks pink. “Meet you at the bus stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro jogs off to his room with a last wave. Inside, he throws open his closet and looks over his clothes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s too warm for the leather jacket, but Shiro pulls it out first anyway. Keith has complimented it before, and Shiro knows it’s flattering on him. He’ll deal with the heat until the sun goes down, and then he’ll be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of it...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t really have date clothes. He hadn’t even thought about it, which is horrible. Keith isn’t going to judge him for wearing whatever he has around, but Shiro wants to dress up. He wants to make their first real date special and show he’s put in the effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which makes it all the more frustrating that he didn’t bring anything worthwhile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro ends up pulling out a variety of clothes. He tries on every pair of jeans he has, comparing how he looks in each and if they look too threadbare. Once he finds one that’s flatteringly tight without looking raggedy, he tries on button downs, fiddling with how much chest to show.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, Shiro is never really satisfied. But he has to catch the bus or else this is all moot. So he picks the black jeans and a gray shirt and runs for the bus stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is already there, unsurprisingly. He leans back against a street lamp pull, one leg up and braced on the no doubt hot metal. He has his usual jacket flung over one arm and a pair of jeans, but he’s changed into a tank top. Which means exposed arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not like Shiro hasn’t seen him in a sleeveless shirt before. Including over the summer. But now he doesn’t have to look away and chastise himself. He can look his fill. He’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>supposed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knowledge fills him with a bubbly giddiness. Shiro lets himself trace his eyes over Keith’s arms and the hint of stomach where the shirt doesn’t quite meet his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he approaches, Keith looks up. He stills under Shiro’s roaming gaze, then looks Shiro up and down in return. The corner of his lips pulls up in clear appreciation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently Keith likes what he sees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s chest puffs out. He trots over, trying not to openly preen at the attention and mostly failing. “Hey,” he says. “Glad I didn’t miss the bus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You played it close.” Keith smiles, slow and warm. His eyes shine in the desert sun, and his gaze doesn’t waiver an inch. It’s like Shiro is the only thing around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knows the feeling. He couldn’t look away from Keith if Matt and Adam walked by in full clown suits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith reaches up and takes hold of the lapels of Shiro’s jacket. He tugs on it as if he’s straightening it. It’s an excuse, because Shiro made sure everything was perfect before he left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like this on you,” Keith says. The light catches one eye more than the other, making the color seem to shine. It brings out the unique purple tones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles back and steps in even closer, until they’re barely apart. “I know. That’s why I wore it.” He basks in Keith’s approval. “I like the tanktop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve seen me in this dozens of times,” Keith says. His thumbs rub into the high collar of Shiro’s jacket, seemly just to enjoy the texture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But now I get to really appreciate it.” Shiro runs his hands up and down Keith’s bare upper arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s smile grows fangs. “Even if I don’t have muscles like yours?” He asks, obviously teasing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need them. I know exactly how strong you are. And I like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shoves up on his tiptoes, pressing their lips together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any further mutual appreciation is interrupted by the rumble of the approaching bus. They break apart as the crowd gets louder in anticipation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like Matt and Adam said, the bus is full today. The first week of city visits is used to pick up supplies any cadets forgot, as well as just to get out. A sizable number of their yearmates are boarding - their friends included - just to relax.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro waves to Matt and Adam. Adam replies in kind, while Matt makes kissy faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro decides not to pay them any more attention for the rest of the ride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and Keith manage to jam themselves into a seat before they can be separated. The noise is oppressive, so Shiro wastes no time in digging out his phone and earbuds to share with Keith. He’s far more sensitive to sound than most.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes the earbud with a smile, then presses against Shiro until they’re flush. “Do you have a plan for tonight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dinner,” Shiro replies. “I wasn’t really thinking about it while I was getting ready. You have any suggestions?” Platu City is Keith’s hometown, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wrinkling his nose, Keith shakes his head. “Not really. I wasn’t going on many dates before I met you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. This is Keith’s first date ever, isn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Technically, it’s Shiro’s too, but he at least has the dream to fall back on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s very first date ever, and Shiro doesn’t have a plan. He hadn’t thought it out more than just dinner at a place they’ve eaten plenty of times before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shame clutches Shiro by the throat. He starts his music, then flips over to the internet. “Well,” he says, forcing his voice to keep even. “That’s fine. We can look up some ideas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, Keith narrows his eyes. “Don’t make this weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not! I’m just looking up date spots.” Shiro sets his jaw, determined to keep a straight face. But under Keith’s stare, he wilts. So instead he wraps an arm around Keith and tugs him in closer. “I want to treat you right. That’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. But he leans into Shiro’s side, head on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, that’s nice, but Shiro can make it </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> special. And if he can, he should. That’s essentially a moral obligation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead of reply, Shiro continues to flip through, looking for places close enough to walk from the bus stop. They can take a taxi or connecting bus if they need to, but it’s an added layer of complexity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a bowling alley, which could be fun for competition but not something he sees Keith being into. Obviously the movie theater is close, but they do that all the time. A brewery tour, but it’s 21+. A community theater, which... not with Keith. And-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you gone to the history museum?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leans in closer, brow furrowed. “Maybe on a field trip? It’d be years and years ago, and I doubt I cared aside from missing school. But it sounds nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’ll do. Since it’s evening, it’s less likely to be filled with little kids, and it’s an excuse to wander around and hang out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good, then.” Shiro pulls up restaurants next, looking for a nice place nearby the museum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith puts his hand over the screen and frowns up at Shiro. “Something wrong with the diner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,.” Shiro says, drawing out the word as he scrambles for an excuse. He doesn’t find one. “We just eat there all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because we like the food,” Keith reminds. He leans back against the squeaky plastic seating and sets his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s bottom lip juts out. “It’s not really nice, though. Great food, but not...” Not special.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sighes, then winds a hand around the back of Shiro’s head. He uses it to angle Shiro’s face toward him. “Shiro. You’ve met me. What the hell makes you think I want something fancy for a date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pout deepens. “It wouldn’t be all the time,” Shiro admits. “Just this one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your first, isn’t it?” Shiro shrugs, reaching out to smooth a wrinkle in Keith’s tank top. “I assume, from what you’ve said. So it just seemed right to make it something to remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith uses his grip to pull Shiro into a kiss. “Shiro, I’m not going to forget our first date even if it’s simple. And if I do, I hope it’s because we have so many coming up that the details escape me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would they, though? Shiro might only be able to give Keith so many. Shouldn’t he make them count?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith’s gaze is so serious and Shiro doesn’t want to bring down the mood with that kind of observation. So instead he kisses back. “Alright. But I still want to go to the museum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m okay with that.” Keith’s eyes crinkle from the force of his smile. “You’re going to be a complete nerd about it, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like all of history. Just the stuff that interests me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And the made up dorky stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hides his face in Keith’s shoulder, mostly for the excuse to nuzzle into his neck. He feels the vibrations of Keith’s chuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They do end up having dinner at their usual spot, with their usual meals. Shiro happily plows through his pancakes and trades bites for Keith’s eggs. It’s nice to be able to offer his fork and have Keith bite off of it. Domestic. It makes Shiro giddy just to have the privilege. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not over the novelty of it all. Between the dream and real life, Shiro has years and years of quiet acceptance. By now he was beyond hoping his feelings would fade, and just content to be in Keith’s life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now Shiro is free. If he wants to, he can lean forward and kiss Keith right now. He can hold his hands. He can tell him that he loves him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Any time he wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he does, leaning forward as Keith swallows his eggs. Shiro’s chest hits his milkshake cup and Keith doesn’t do more than blink in surprise. But that’s okay. It’s still kissing Keith. And if this kiss isn’t perfect, they have plenty of time to practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a long, long time since Shiro got to enjoy the first, rosy stages of a relationship. If he wants to indulge himself a little, that’s acceptable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After dinner, they make their way to the museum. The sun is still out, low enough to cast everything in gold and orange. Shiro offers his arm to Keith, who hooks his own through indulgently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lighting is perfect for Keith. The colors warm him, bring out the fire and passion Shiro knows him for. His hair shines in the fading sunlight, strands of it catching red or turning deep black in the shadows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cocks his head, brows up. Shiro just smiles back, because he’s allowed to look all he wants without needing excuses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The museum is small and state run, mostly focused on the history of the area. They wander through, still arm and arm. The exhibits are broad and child-friendly, in wording and in design. The models are big and colorful, showing the history of the area from the desert forming millions of years ago through World War III.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s maybe not the most romantic of topics, but it’s at least an excuse to wander around and spend time together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They enter a large room, where the skylight raises up a second story. A plaster tyrannosaur stands tall, a couple of feet larger than Shiro even without the platform below. It’s head is back in an aggressive roar as it faces a group of defensive duck-bills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes, lips parted and eyes wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro glances at him, charmed by the boyish awe on his face. “Are you a dinosaur fan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, they’re cool,” Keith says. But he shakes his head, even as he steps out of the way to let a group of giggling teenagers past. He watches them pose in front of the dinosaurs for pictures. “I remember this place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shuffles out of the way as well. “This room?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods. “Yeah. This exhibit. It must be the same as when I was a kid.” He cocks his head to the side, considering. “I was probably... six or seven, I think? I remember not wanting to go to lunch and stay here longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So before life got more difficult for Keith. Shiro rests his other hand over Keith’s, glad it’s flesh so it’s warm and soft. “Well, no rush now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith huffs, but it doesn’t quite cover his eagerness. “It wasn’t a big deal or anything. I just wanted to look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So let’s look.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There really isn’t too much to see, despite Shiro’s enthusiasm. They admire the texture and detail on the dinosaurs and examine the nests and eggs. They read over the plaques, which explain in child-friendly language what’s happening in the scene, as well as details of the creatures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro never makes a move to leave, and instead lets Keith be the one to tug him on. He watches Keith carefully for any sign of disappointment, but there isn’t any. Instead, he has a peaceful little smile as they go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling as well, Shiro holds Keith’s arm tighter under his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend a little time in the World War III exhibit as well, which is more for Shiro’s benefit. He knows all the battles shown in more detail than the museum gives, but it’s fun to see the mannequins in uniform and the light-up battle maps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they reach the end, Shiro keeps glancing at Keith. He seems fine, but not really giddy. It’s more vague than that. Maybe simply content. Indulgent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a date. Shouldn’t they be doing something that makes Keith more than distantly happy?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they exit the museum, dusk has fallen. There aren’t visible stars in the city, and the sun hasn’t been down for long enough to really chill the air. Despite that, Keith breaks away from Shiro to put on his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Should Shiro have offered his own first?)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Dammit, he’s so bad at romance. He knows this. In the dream and now, Shiro never seems to find the right answer until after the fact.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pulls up his phone and flips through the map, checking out what’s close enough to walk to. “Did you want to grab a movie?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith glances back over his shoulder, brows up. “I don’t really know what’s out right now, but if there’s something you wanted to see...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t sound very excited about a movie either. Dammit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could look?” Shiro keeps flipping, frowning down at the phone. Surely there has to be something Keith really wants to do here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand settles around his wrist. Shiro looks up to see Keith watching him, head cocked. He frowns, accessing Shiro..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is he figuring out that Shiro is shit at this? Because at least acknowledging the truth might be better than just letting their date be awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Keith reaches up and flicks Shiro on the ear. “Quit it. I can hear you worrying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you can’t,” Shiro replies, rubbing his ear. He knows he’s pouting, but he can’t make himself stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I can.” Keith stares hard at him. “What’s wrong? I thought we were having fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s shoulders slump. He wants to kick at the street like a guilty child. “I hoped so. But I wasn’t sure. And it didn’t seem...” He struggles for the words for how slapped together and half-assed the trip feels. “Enough,” he finally finishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t plan this out. He didn’t even think to make tonight a date until Matt and Adam said something. He picked a destination without thinking about how romantic it might be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, because I need something fancy, right?” Keith arches a brow and crosses his arms. “You know how high maintenance I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro chokes, somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. “No, that’s not- I just mean it could be better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Keith holds up a hand before Shiro can go on. “Actually, stupid question. Why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...What does he mean ‘why’? “Because it’s our first real date. It needs to be...” Something. Better. More.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect?” Keith cocks his head to the side. “You know what you’re doing? You’re acting like this is a test you got a ‘B’ on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t wrong. It felt the same way. That same panic. That same sense that he’d failed himself and set back his plans. Because he didn’t have time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because every minute counts. When he didn’t do something right, it was precious time wasted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time Shiro doesn’t have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has one chance to make this right. To make it enough. To make this worth it to Keith, both for putting up with Shiro and for later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their future in pain. It was in the dream, and it will be this time if Shiro’s clock continues to run out. Shouldn’t he give Keith a good time while they have a chance?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s hands come up to cup either side of Shiro’s jaw. He pulls him in for a kiss. “This was good, Shiro. I had fun. And I got what I really wanted, which was to spend time with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How can that be enough?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s enough for Shiro. It’s a good time when he’s with Keith. Shouldn’t that go both ways?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Shiro says. He leans forward and presses their forehead together. “I just wanted this to be good for you. You deserve that. And because I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes brighten, just as they do whenever Shiro says those words. That’s the look Shiro wanted from the date. That pure happiness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently it was easier than he thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” Keith says, and kisses him. “Now, come on. We can catch the bus back and show each other how much we appreciate each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perking, Shiro nods. He smiles as Keith sets off, grabbing Shiro’s hand and dragging him along by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A night of kissing is an ideal way to end a date night in his book. He’s damn lucky to love someone who gets it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fall break comes as a complete relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vacation is always a nice break from classes, but Keith has never needed a couple of days as breathing room so badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Applications for cadet missions were bad. But they’re nothing compared to the interviews.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter how many times Shiro offered to help him, or how many times they went over the basics in class. Keith just wasn’t good at interviews. He didn’t know how to be charming, and he absolutely hated having to sell himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why bother, anyway? They can see his grades and his sim scores. That’s what they're hiring Keith for. Not to be able to answer awkward questions and make appropriate small talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, it’s over. Keith has survived interviews for every mission he’d applied to. He’s even pretty sure he hadn’t hurt his chances with any of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he deserves some time away from the Garrison. Better yet, he deserves to work with his hands and do something actually productive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thus why he, Shiro, and their rental truck of supplies are at the shack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their first tasks are fixing up the structural integrity. Keith knows it’s possible to do it all by hand, since there had definitely never been anyone around to fix up the place but his dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tackles fixing the roof while Shiro figures out how to change out the broken window. They’d watched tutorials and printed out instructions, so he’s confident the repairs will hold, even if they don’t look pretty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next is clearing the place out. That means dragging out the old furniture, cleaning off what they want to keep, and bringing in the replacements for what they don’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It should, in Keith’s opinion, be the easiest part. If he were alone, it would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not for Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A yelp makes Keith whirl, holding out his duster like it’s his knife. The real thing is uselessly sitting on the coffee table, several feet away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, the danger is nothing so immediate. Instead, Shiro drops the couch he’d tried to drag and scrambles onto the cushion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A snake skitters out, disturbed from the nice, shady hiding space below the couch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith watches it weave behind the old bookshelf. Then he slowly turns to look at Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is still tense, but at least has the trace to look embarrassed at his undignified squawk. “I didn’t expect to see it,” he admits. “Or for it to move so fast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you there’d be critters.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking bugs!” Shiro shoots back. He steps down, then warily glances below the couch, apparently expecting a whole family of snakes below. “Maybe mice. Not a snake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sighs and grabs a broom. “It’s a desert, Shiro. There are snakes. And lizards. And scorpions. You </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t expect them under a couch,” Shiro mutters back. He eyes the broom, lips turning down. “Are you going to kill it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With a broom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shrugs. “I’m pretty sure you could do it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Honestly, he’s probably right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Keith says. “I’m going to scare it out. Go open the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods and does so, opening it wide and standing on the other side. “Should I get a broom too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shakes his head. Instead, he takes hold of the bookshelf and gently scoots it away. They’d already moved out the books (which Keith now needs to sort through), so it’s easy enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he peeks around the back, the snake is already coiled unhappily. Considering it was just disturbed from its home, that’s no surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s also not a surprise when the tail vibrates and begins to rattle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith isn’t bothered. Even when he was an eight year old, he already knew how to deal with this. He pushes the broom in, making short jabbing motions without getting close enough to hit the poor thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rattling picks up. But the snake decides the fight isn’t worth the energy and beats another hasty retreat. It goes the opposite direction of Keith, following the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That leads it right toward the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro watches, tense. From the way he’s bracing himself, he’s ready to bolt. He cocks his head at the snake’s movement, then holds up his hand, palm open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t think, just reacts. He throws the broom to Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just in time, because when faced with the open door, the snake turns left rather than right - back into the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro brings the broom down in it’s way, shaking the bristles threateningly from side to side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediately, the rattlesnake snaps into the other direction. As soon as it’s clear of the door, Shiro slams it shut with obvious relish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go,” Keith says. He dusts off his hands on his jeans. “You handled your first snake, city boy. I’m proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, bite me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t seem to appreciate it when the snake tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro rolls his eyes but smiles. “Thank you for coming to my rescue,” he says, dry as the desert outside. Then, after a moment of hesitation, he adds, “It wasn’t dangerous anyway, right? Like, it’s probably not venomous. And if it did, it wouldn’t be that bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no. A rattlesnake? They kill plenty. But if you’re careful they won’t bother.” With that, Keith goes back to sorting through his dad’s old tech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro groans. “You could have lied to me, you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better you know what’s dangerous and what isn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing, Shiro goes back to the couch and looks all around before he starts to drag it again. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only good thing to have come out of this desert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bites his bottom lip to try and hide his smile. He doesn’t succeed. “Not even rabbits? Or the kangaroo rats?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. “Maybe the rabbits are okay,” Shiro allows. He drags the old couch over to the door, then hesitates. “Is the snake still going to be out there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s sitting by the door, plotting revenge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it back, I like the rabbits better than you.” But Shiro is smiling too as he opens the door and drags the whole thing out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he comes back in, Keith is waiting. He grabs Shiro but the flannel shirt (which is unfairly tight on him) and pulls him into a kiss. A long, deep, thorough kiss. Keith doesn’t let up until Shiro’s hands grip his hips and he melts into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he pulls away. “Now where do the rabbits rank?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks dazedly and licks his lips. “Rabbits?” He echoes back, like he’s never heard of them before. “Um..”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smirking, Keith leans up and gives him another peck. “That’s what I thought.” Then he smacks Shiro on the ass, just because he can. And because it makes him jolt and blush, which is adorable. “Table next.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, sir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Shiro checks on the coffee table for rogue snakes too, which is absolutely unnecessary. But if it makes him less jumpy, all the better.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the end of the day, the shack is mostly in one piece and cleaned out. They have a new couch, a new table, and a replacement for the worst of the bookshelves. Tomorrow they’ll tackle the bedroom, which Keith is putting off - he’s not sure how he’ll handle going through his father’s things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which reminds Keith - they’ll need to start sorting through Mr. Shirogane’s room over winter or spring break, too. After graduation they won’t have a full summer off to get everything done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doing this twice in half a year sounds terrible, but it’s better than leaving it undone and waiting like a spector. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, neither of them want to risk the long-abandoned bed (especially after the snake incident.) So instead they drag a tent inside and set it up in the living room. Keith has no problems camping outside, but if they don’t have to he doesn’t feel a burning need.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith groans and flops down on the inflatable mattress. It jolts under his weight, nearly sending him rolling back off. He aches in the best way - the proof of a long day of hard work, his rest earned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro climbs in next to him, moving much more gently. Despite the chill desert air, he’s wearing just a tank top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith notes the oddity the way he notices anything different about Shiro. But he doesn’t comment except to look over the exposed arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without a year of fighting, this Shiro is less bulky. He still has muscle, a result of the Garrison’s fitness program and their own extracurricular efforts. But he lacks the definition that came from too many fights and too few meals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s also not wearing his cuffs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stretches done?” Keith asks. Neither of them move to grab the blankets yet, so instead he just offers his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro settles in next to him. “All done,” he confirms, open and easy. Too easy - he’s probably masking some unease, because he rarely talks about the cuffs, even to Keth. But if he wants to ignore his discomfort, Keith is content to let him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith just nods, accepting that. Hopefully Shiro is telling the truth, because otherwise tomorrow he’ll be sore and be in a terrible mood. But rather than prod - he’s bad at that anyway - Keith just pets through Shiro’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you?” Shiro asks. “How’s your back after all that time on the roof?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since Keith is 19, he can just grin and shrug. “I’m good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro turns to face him, eyes heavily lidded. His hand, large and warm, slides over Keith’s upper arm. “Not sore at all?” He asks leadingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blinks, not sure what Shiro is getting at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pauses, then rather than look put out, he gives Keith a fond little smile. “If you were feeling sore, I was going to give you a massage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I’m not. You don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just take the excuse, would you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah. “You could have just said.” With that, Keith pulls off his t-shirt and rolls onto his stomach. “There doesn’t have to be an excuse if you want to touch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gets on his knees and straddles over Keith’s back. “You know that’s not how I work,” he says. Both hands touch down. His palms are rough, but Keith likes it. The extra texture is grounding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re also both warm. Natural.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shoves the thought away before he can dwell and tense up. He’ll figure something out when they get closer to Kerberos. No need to freak out now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides,” Shiro continues, which drags Keith back to the conversation. His hands start to work into the muscles of Keith’s shoulders. “I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith tries to pick up his head, but he can’t without disturbing Shiro’s massage. “Why wouldn’t I be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Humming, Shiro digs into Keith’s shoulders, pushing him down into the mattress from the increased force. At first the pressure is intense, but then a knot gives and all Keith can do is groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can be more sexual to touch someone like this,” Shiro says. His words are clinical, but his tone is gentle. “I thought it might make you uncomfortable. I don’t want to push you somewhere you aren’t ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That- that does make sense. Keith hasn’t ever stopped Shiro from getting handsy, but he also hasn’t encouraged him to go farther. Shiro stops on his own, and it should be obvious that it's out of respect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not that Keith doesn’t want Shiro. He has for years, both in his head and in their current time. But there’s still that nagging guilt. A sense that he’s taking advantage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The right thing to do would still be to end this. If Keith can’t tell Shiro the truth, he shouldn’t drag him into a relationship, guided by his strange memories.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except Shiro wants this, and Keith wants this, and he’s never been good at telling Shiro no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently he doesn’t always have to. Apparently a lack of a yes is signal enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to pressure you,” Shiro says, when Keith doesn’t respond. “If you’re not interested in sex, or not ready yet, both of those are fine. I’m not waiting around for anything, and I don’t have expectations. All I want is what we have.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, this would be so much easier if Shiro wasn’t so goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>sweet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not-” Keith sighs and closes his eyes. He focuses on Shiro’s hands, still so gentle as they roam over his skin. The brush of those calloused fingertips sends jolts of want through him. “I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> interested. I’m just...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro leans in and kisses the back of Keith’s neck. It should jolt through Keith, but instead it makes him melt further into the mattress. “It’s okay to be nervous or not to be ready. You’ve never done this before, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t,” Keith says, which is true no matter what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, no pressure. No expectations. No timeframes. Nothing like that. I love what we have, and I just want to make sure I respect your boundaries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s chest clenches with a wave of affection. This is why he should break it off. Because Shiro is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Keith is repaying that with lies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But how is Keith supposed to want anything but to kiss Shiro?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So obviously that’s what he does. He flips over and leans up on his elbows to kiss him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Keith says without moving away. The words brush over Shiro’s gently parted lips. “I appreciate that you’re patient.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m good at that,” Shiro says. He smiles, which Keith can feel against his own lips. He cups Keith’s jaw, thumb rubbing over his cheekbones. “But this isn’t patience. This is happiness exactly as we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith kisses him again. He pulls Shiro down until they’re both laying on the mattress, Shiro over him. He likes the bulk and warmth of him, like a weighted blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro goes easily, sighing into Keith’s mouth. His hands settle on Keith’s exposed sides, but no further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So good. It makes Keith wonder what other orders he’d follow. Shiro has always been very good at that, until he isn’t. But Shiro in a bratty mood is a different kind of fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s talk about this more later,” Keith says, between kisses. “I want to. But not now.” Not on an air mattress in his childhood home, which may or may not still have animals living inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is that mattress in the other room. But not only is it also probably as gross as the old couch, but it’s very possibly the bed where Keith was conceived. Which- no. Eugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro just nods. He pulls back, gray eyes soft with understanding. “Of course. Just let me know. In the meantime, I think you still might be sore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snorting, Keith spreads out his hands. “You can try this side now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mind if I do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro starts at Keith’s neck again, working down the shoulders and the arms. This time he moves with more active concentration, rather than letting his hands brush skin while he talks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith closes his eyes and lets himself sink down. It’s impossible to properly doze right now, not while Shiro’s shifting weight makes the mattress jolt. But he feels nice and warm. Keith could melt into a blob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment is just nice. A mix of comforting childhood, the potential of change from their repairs, and Shiro himself. Outside, the desert comes alive with noise, and inside the light is dim and Shiro is warm despite the cool air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, it is until Shiro pauses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have neighbors?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes snap open in alarm. He listens hard, but he only hears the typical, distant noises of the desert. “No. Not that I know of. Do you hear someone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares at the front door, head cocked. He’s not tense, but he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>readied.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Not someone. But it sounds like someone out there has dogs. Hikers, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pausing, Keith cocks his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a grin cracks over his lips. “Shiro. That’s not dogs. That’s coyotes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that he’s thinking about it, he understands the confusion. It sounds like a bunch of distant dogs yowling at each other - not the prolonged, stereotypical howl of a wolf, but barking and yapping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hadn’t even thought about it. Even if he hasn’t lived out here in a decade, he knows those sounds too well to be bothered. Like crickets in movies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coyotes?” Shiro’s eyes go bright. He squirms back and - ignoring Keith’s grumble of protest - heads to the window he repaired earlier. “Will they come close?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll probably stay away from any light, but yeah.” Keith slumps back down. He regrets telling Shiro about the coyotes if he’s going to be abandoned. “If you go out for a walk you’ll probably see them. If we were in the tent outside you could probably hear them walking around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s head whips around to him, his whole face lit up with boyish excitement. He reaches for his jacket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t,” Keith groans. “They’re wild animals, Shiro. Not dogs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro waffles, clearly not wanting to believe Keith, even if he knows it’s true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frankly, Keith doesn’t get the fascination. Coyotes are annoyances. They aren’t afraid of humans outside of their size, and they get into all kinds of trouble in the trash or by getting dangerously close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They probably won’t do anything to Shiro. He’s too big a target for them. But that’s not a good reason to go gawk at them, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please come back?” Keith reaches out to Shiro. “I’m cold now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That works. Instantly, Shiro drops his jacket and instead grabs their blankets. He brings them over and settles back down next to Keith, this time bundling them both up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe tomorrow,” Shiro allows. He wraps one arm around Keith’s waist and settles his head on his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Keith tugs on his bangs. “So much for me being your favorite thing in the desert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums. “That was before I thought about the coyotes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith turns away from him and pulls the blanket up higher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith? I was kidding. You know I’m kidding. Keith.” Shiro kisses the exposed top of Keith’s head, right next to his cowlick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Keith does turn back around. He tries to scowl at Shiro and doesn’t really manage it. “You’re lucky I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s expression softens. He brushes Keith’s bangs out of his face, and his eyes are so warm and gentle that Keith wants to turn back away and hide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Shiro says, and clearly means it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith kisses him, because he can’t do anything else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro growls and lunges forward. His eyes are narrow with the intent to take Keith down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith holds his ground, jaw set. At the last moment, he ducks to the side. He aims his elbow at Shiro’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sees the move coming and holds an arm out. It takes the blow, and a split-second later, Shiro slams into Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than go down, Keith plants his feet and shoves back. At his size, he should be sent flying. But he has more density and strength than he should. He holds his ground, locking them in place despite Shiro’s train-like charge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, if he wants to hold on, that’s fine. Shiro will use that grip to his advantage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, Shiro grabs Keith around the side and </span>
  <em>
    <span>heaves</span>
  </em>
  <span> up and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is a big guy. He doesn’t have the strength of an alien metal arm or his year in captivity, but he does have raw size and muscle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t send Keith flying. But it does pull Keith off his feet. He goes tumbling toward the mat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith turns the toss into a roll and plants his hands on the mat. He swings his leg out in a kick, catching Shiro in the knee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro goes down, but catches himself on his palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith pauses to stand back up, Shiro uses that to brace himself and kicks back like a donkey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His bare heel catches Keith in the shoulder. The impact sends him crashing right back down, with even more force than the throw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro twists and jumps after him, trying to get Keith into a pin while the jolt still has him dazed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which would work, except Keith isn’t dazed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets his arms up in time to intercept Shiro again. His hands grip Shiro’s forearms and hold them back, keeping Shiro locked above him despite gravity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes flash, a hint of yellow over his sclera. His teeth are set as he holds Shiro’s weight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The position is achingly familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no clone factory around. Shiro’s hands are far from Keith’s face. There’s no crushing force in Shiro’s head driving him on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart still clenches, both from the pain of the memory and from the lack of familiarity on Keith’s part. He doesn’t have Shiro’s dream, so it can’t haunt him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It never will if Shiro can help it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Step one of that is not to get captured.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Shiro hesitates, lost in thought, Keith has no such problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A foot plants into Shiro’s stomach, hard enough to lift him up and off of Keith. Shiro tries to angle himself to fall back on top of him, but can’t. Instead he hits his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rolls with the movement, not letting go of Shiro’s arms. He uses the tension to drag himself on top of Shiro in a flash. He shoves Shiro’s wrists to the mat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he leans down and kisses him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat of the fight blends seamlessly with a flare of want. Shiro opens his mouth to Keith’s assault and arches up into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rocks down, shifting explicitly to grind their cocks together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distantly, Shiro notes that Keith isn’t hard yet, but neither is Shiro. That won’t last if he keeps rubbing them together like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tries to grab at Keith’s hair, but can’t. He’s still pinned down, helpless to Keith’s latest attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The realization makes him moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pulls back and lips his lips. His eyes burn. With competition, with need, with a desperation that takes Shiro’s breath away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens his mouth, then suddenly swoops down for another kiss. This time, he nips at Shiro’s lips rather than delve in deep. Fangs brush into the flesh, which is already threatening to swell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” Shiro groans. He makes another futile effort to touch and instead bucks up once again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re mine,” Keith says, low and heated. Passionate in a way that seems different from the growing need. But Shiro’s too focused on the rough kisses and rocking hips to pay that any attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s such a contrast to his thoughts just seconds ago. Shiro’s head swims at the change. He wants. He wants Keith out of those flimsy gym clothes. He wants to taste more than his mouth. He wants to chase away his memories with Keith, here and now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except there are footsteps and voices outside the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them jolt. Keith throws himself back and wipes his mouth, while Shiro folds his legs up to hide his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voices, obliviously chatting, move past the door and go quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro fights back against a blush but feels his cheeks warm regardless. No one caught them, but the threat is there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Horribly, that doesn’t make his body less interested.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should...” Shiro nods to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your room,” Keith agrees. He hops to his feet and holds out a hand to help Shiro. Once Shiro is up, he doesn’t let go. Instead, he pulls Shiro along to the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they go, Shiro gives a last glance back toward the showers, tempted to redirect them. At this late hour the gym is empty, and it’s unlikely someone will need to wash off before they’re done...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro doesn’t want to actually be interrupted (or face the consequences after). So instead he hurries after Keith. They rush through the halls together, the air between them charged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminds Shiro, absurdly, of when they’d snuck out with Grandfather’s speeder during their first summer together. Pressed against each other, near-giggling from mischief. The memory brings a smile to his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They crash into Shiro’s room. Keith doesn’t even wait to get to the bed, instead pushing Shiro against the closed door and slamming into him for a kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that his hands are free, Shiro takes full advantage. One hand grips the back of Keith’s hair, yanking him into a deeper kiss. The other spreads over Keith’s chest, feeling the well muscled plane of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” Shiro groans out. He lets his hand drift lower, settling on his stomach again. But no further.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith moans. Both of his hands are braced on Shiro’s pecs. He no longer has to lean up so far to kiss - he’s gained at least an inch since the year started, nearing the height he’ll have at 21.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s fingers curl, digging into the muscle of Shiro’s chest. His palms scrape, pulling the fabric of his workout shirt taut and rubbing against Shiro’s nipples.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck. Shiro arches up into the touch, dragging Keith closer by pure instinct. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” he tries again, though he can’t make his voice forceful. It’s a reedy cry instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes track up, burning bright from behind his bangs. But he pauses, realizing Shiro’s use of his name isn’t a moan - it’s trying to get his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tension on Shiro’s shirt loosens. Keith bites his bottom lip, like he has to physically master himself to keep from charging forward. “Something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Shiro says, his voice softening. He wants this, and he doesn’t want Keith to think otherwise. “But are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes go wide. His mouth falls open, a hint of outrage in his expression. Like he can’t believe Shiro would interrupt them just to check in on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he better believe, or else Shiro isn’t sure who Keith has been dating these past few months. What else would he do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Keith’s cheeks darken. He groans and presses his forehead to Shiro’s chest. “I’m fine. It’s never been...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pets his hand through Keith’s hair. The frantic energy of before is fading, slipping away the longer they hold it back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s fine. They’ll have other chances. But Shiro wants this to be right for Keith. He’s been giving unsure signals about moving forward for months now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he is ready. Maybe he isn’t. Keeping a passionate moment going isn’t worth the gamble, even if Shiro’s stomach rolls with abandoned want.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon,” Keith groans, his fingers gripping at Shiro’s shirt. “Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want to check in,” Shiro says. He continues to pet Keith’s hair, keeping up the contact for both their sakes. “If you’re ready, great. But I don’t want you to have regrets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Keith looks up, his eyes bright and his jaws set. He meets Shiro’s calm, patient stare, which makes him wince.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cocks his head, just waiting for the words. He still doesn’t know what’s holding Keith back. He says it’s not lack of interest, which Shiro can accept. There’s no reason he needs to force an answer out, but it does make it hard to understand any sudden shift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sighs. “I’m ready. I am.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It sounds like you’re convincing yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just have to get over it, don’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shiftens. Then he puts both hands on Keith’s shoulder and gently pushes him back, until he’s forced to show his face. “Never. Not once. There’s no ‘have to’ here, do you understand? There’s nothing wrong with not having sex.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like that!” Keith’s face scrunches up in frustration. It’s clear he doesn’t know how to explain his feelings, but it’s impossible to tell if it’s because of something he doesn’t want to share, or just because words are failing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, Shiro waits. The heat in his pelvis fades, replaced by simple worry. If Keith is trying to just force his way past the issue and ends up being hurt...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro can’t take that, and he doesn't want Keith to go through it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a sex thing, or an age thing, or an inexperience thing,” Keith says, jaw still set. His whole body is tense like the moments before a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods along cautiously. It doesn’t feel like Keith is lying, just that he’s trying to explain as best he can. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just in my head, and I think it’s... I need to accept it or keep worrying over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it?” Shiro asks, head cocked. Clearly something has Keith tied into knots, but he honestly has no idea what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks up, his fingers clenching and unclenching in Shiro’s shirt. It’s like the worried version of a cat kneading. “I don’t...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can tell me anything, you know.” Shiro says. Guilt bubbles up, because he’s a gigantic hypocrite, but he shoves it down. Why share the dream? He refuses to let it come true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith ducks his head. Whatever’s going through his head, either he can’t explain or he’s just flat unwilling to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s fine. Either he needs time or he won’t tell. Shiro’s a private person. He’s never believed in dragging people’s secrets out of them, unless they’re actively harming someone else. It’s what he wants from other people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this seems to be actively hurting Keith, and if he can explain, Shiro is here to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just... don’t know everything. About me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an objectively true statement, but Keith says it so ominously. Shiro’s eyebrows jump up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first instinct is to brush the words off. But this is so clearly a deep weight that he tries to really understand what could be in Keith’s past that could be causing this reluctance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The most obvious answers are that Keith had some sort of negative sexual experience before the Garrison. He’s never jumped or seemed uncomfortable at anything they’ve done, just reluctant to go forward. But that doesn’t mean it’s not true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beyond that, Shiro’s genuinely not sure. Is it that Keith knows something is physically different about him? Shiro obviously knows that, but Keith might not realize.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has spent most of his life carrying around heavy secrets. From his disease to his dream, he knows what it’s like to hide most of himself from everyone around him. Even Keith doesn’t know it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Compared to the big, universe-expanding dream Shiro keeps to himself, it’s hard to see anything less as a reason to fret. But obviously Keith can’t have that perspective.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cups Keith’s cheek, giving him his warmest, most open smile. It’s a vulnerable position; it shows the depths of his affection, his need, his genuine, cross-the-universe love for Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s what Keith needs, and he already sees so much of Shiro. What’s a little more?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t,” Shiro agrees. “Same as you don’t about me. It’ll always be like that, because we’re people.” Habit keeps him from saying ‘human’, even now. “I love you anyway, and I honestly can’t think of anything that’ll change that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can,” Keith says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pauses and tilts his head. “Okay, maybe if you were a serial killer, that would be difficult. But not much else. I know the world has been cruel to you. I know you’ve struggled. I know you’re different than most. But I love you in part because of those things. And because you’re Keith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s cheeks go pink. He shoves his face into Shiro’s chest again, forcing him even more firmly against the door. This time, instead of gripping his shirt, he wraps his arms around Shiro’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’m going to hurt you,” Keith admits, voice so small and scared, and that’s it. That’s the core of all this pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s on the tip of Shiro’s tongue to soothe him. To say it’ll never happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s not true, is it? And more importantly, it won’t help. It’ll just encourage him to bite back sharing in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro says, “I know I’ll hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith freezes, going completely stiff in his arms. Slowly, he picks his head up, and his eyes are wide with confusion and something harder to read, something darker. “Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have a temper sometimes. I’m obsessive about what I’m working on. I don’t know how to take breaks or tell people no. You’ve seen me forget holidays and breaks, and I know I won’t be better about anniversaries. I go until I crash, and I’ve never been good at stopping that. I’ll hurt you. I’m a person. So are you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that doesn’t even touch cutting open Keith’s face with the sword his hand turned into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith continues to stare, but the dark look fades, replaced by understanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relationships don’t make us perfect,” Shiro says. He uses the tips of his fingers to brush Keith’s bangs out of his face. “Love doesn’t make us perfect. I know this, and I’m ready. Sometimes...” He lets himself grin, showing a bit too much teeth. “I even like being hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes flash, automatically responding to Shiro’s competitive tone. But he doesn’t move. “This is different from that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes a deep breath, then lets it out. “Keith, I’m dying. I have maybe a decade left. Is what you’re afraid of really more painful than that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blunt reminder works. Keith’s eyes widen and he curls in on himself. Maybe the words were cruel, but they work to re-evaluate his perspective.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is worse for Keith than the other way around. That’s true now and in the dream. His loyalty is rewarded by Shiro’s constant, terrible luck. Death has dogged Shiro since he turned 10 years old, and when he’s dead, it’s Keith that bears the burden.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching up, Keith puts his hands on either side of Shiro’s face. His nails dig in slightly, and his teeth are bared. “No, you’re not. You’re not going to die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, we all are, really.” Shiro gives him a bland little smile, which does nothing to stop Keith’s glare. “I told you. I know I’m going to hurt you. Does that mean I should step back now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you dare.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Keith yanks him down into another kiss. Shiro leans into it, eyes closing at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ferocious</span>
  </em>
  <span> way Keith grips at him, licks into his mouth, bites down on his bottom lip. He moans, showing the truth of his earlier comment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they break apart, Shiro takes a deep breath to try and cool the renewed fire in his stomach. “You never answered me. Are you ready, Keith?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes burn, clear and bright and that unique, beautiful color. He takes a deep breath, then smiles with all his teeth. “Yeah. I’m ready.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Keith pulls Shiro along until they go crashing onto the bed. There’s a brief tussle of teeth and rolling, mostly for the fun of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It ends with Keith on top, too-sharp nails digging into Shiro’s gym top. There’s probably going to be a series of little punctures in his shirt, and Shiro does not give a single fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re sure?” Shiro asks, because he never can leave quite alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rolls his eyes, then rocks his hips down. “Does that answer your question?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, no-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next kiss and Keith’s hands at the waistband of his shorts does, though.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith is nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes no sense, really. He’s fought intergalactic empires. He’s faced certain death over and over, even preparing to sacrifice himself for the good of the universe. He’s commanded Voltron, Blade missions, his mother’s training. There should be nothing that can scare him here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, standing in an official Garrison flight suit in front of a mirror, just half an hour before his first real mission training session, he’s nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sits on the foot of Keith’s bed, visible in the reflection. His eyes trail up and down Keith’s back, and his eyes are bright with pride.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith meets his gaze in the mirror, and his own fear must be visible, because Shiro’s face softens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing, Shiro comes up behind him. He wraps his arms around Keith’s waist and kisses the back of his ear. “Looks good,” he says, voice intentionally light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it doesn’t,” Keith says. He leans his head back to rest on Shiro’s shoulder. “These look ridiculous on everyone.” Compared to the slim paladin armor or the updated, skin-tight suits of ATLAS, his current outfit is like wearing a blow-up Halloween costume.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s you,” Shiro says, smiling against the side of his head. “And you’re wearing the uniform for your very first real mission. I think that’s hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You would.” Keith leans back into him, certain Shiro can take his weight without blinking. He looks at them in the mirror - Shiro, hair still black, face unscarred. Himself, older than he was as a Red Paladin, younger than the Black Paladin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks young. Even compared to how he looked at the start of Voltron. Keith looks like he did as a kid, wearing his dad’s firefighter uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re both so fucking young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his dream, Keith never felt that way. He was exactly old enough to do what needed to be done, and so he did it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he has the distance and the structure of the Garrison to realize how ridiculous it is. He’ll still do it, because he can and because he wants to. But they really are way too young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not going to take me seriously,” Keith says, still looking into the mirror.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums his understanding. His grip tightens. “Someone does. They picked you for this mission, and they knew they were opening it for cadets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s true, but Keith is still tense, prepared for what has to be inevitable scorn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The supply mission to Mars is standard, but this particular one is tricky. This is a terrible time to fly between the planets, when the Garrison and the Ares colony are farthest away, and the gravity of the moon and Phobos will make the trip tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the supplies they bring - food, seeds, supplies, but especially medicine after a rampant flu outbreak - can’t be delayed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They still brought on a cadet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith has flown in far more dire situations, with more on the line. But that’s in another life. That Keith had already activated his knife. That Keith was a paladin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This Keith looks like a child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you nervous?” Keith finally asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s brows raise up. His arms shift, getting more comfortable to hold Keith’s weight. “For my mission, or for yours?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>....Shiro could be worried about Keith’s mission? All in all, it’s not a dangerous flight. The biggest fear is that delays will cost lives, not that he’ll decide to send the ship spiralling down onto the planet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then again, this is space travel. It has a greater safety rating than the average car ride still, but that’s because it’s all still monitored so well. That doesn’t make it actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Any time they fly, there’s always the chance of mechanical failure or a freak accident.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either,” Keith finally answers. He tilts his head up so he can barely see Shiro’s profile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shrugs, which Keith feels rather than sees. “I think I will be,” he says. “We don’t start training for a few weeks, and you don’t launch till a week after that. Right now? I’m just proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And blind,” Keith says, tugging on the front of the bagging suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro hums his disagreement. Then he steps back and turns Keith around, so he’s facing Shiro instead of the mirror. “You know what you can do. You know how amazing you are, and you work best under pressure. You’re going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>shine,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Keith. And anyone who doesn’t see that is someone you can ignore, same as always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith knows that’s true. He knows there’s no real difference between stupid cadets or stupid officers or stupid coalition members who distrusted the Blades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, he’s never done this before. He’s never actually had to present himself as a junior member of the Galaxy Garrison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to expect. This is unknown territory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro is right - judgement has never stopped him before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Keith wraps his arms around Shiro’s shoulder and cracks a grin. “Guess I’ll just have to dedicate this mission to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes brighten and a hint of color comes over his cheeks. Apparently he likes that, but he must not have known it - otherwise he would have controlled the reaction. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. And you’ll do the same, when you lead your own mission.” Keith beams at him, unabashedly showing all his pride. “Youngest mission leader in Garrison history.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro ducks his head. He smiles, but there’s a hint of something dark and tense behind his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t know why, but he can guess - success is bittersweet. It’s a reminder of the tight deadline Shiro has to live by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” Shiro says. It’s not modesty - though he’s definitely projected that to their classmates. “I just thought it would be good experience, and that Matt and Adam should have a chance too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except Matt’s frantic research had caught attention with some of their other yearmates, thinking his dad had let him in on something special. Matt had shared the mission, mostly to nip that rumor in the bud, and from there it had spread.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s sneaky way of avoiding cadet competition had backfired. But instead of cutting himself out, he’d flooded the other positions with cadets as well, until the Garrison leaned into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The test flight of the Argo VII was going to be a completely cadet run mission, aside from one officer supervisor. And Shiro was made mission commander.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s basically playacting anyway,” Shiro continues. “The officer will be the real commander.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, they won’t, because it’s going to go perfectly. They’ll have the cushy gig of sitting around and letting you do the work.” Keith kisses Shiro, determined to push away those doubts. “They let you do it because they know you can. You’re a leader.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That same dark look comes over Shiro’s expression. Then he sighs and knocks his knuckle against Keith’s temple. “Wasn’t I supposed to be calming you down?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You did. And messing with you helps.” Keith cards his fingers through the buzzed hair at the base of Shiro’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro closes his eyes in bliss. The back of his neck is sensitive, Keith has found. He can get him to melt or squirm with a few touches, depending on the context.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dammit, he should have started this an hour ago. He has barely twenty minutes before he has to go, and he really can’t show up to his first mission smelling like sex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to admit, it’s a great opportunity.” Keith continues to massage, hoping against hope it’ll keep the dark comments out of Shiro’s mouth and mind. “It gives you a great platform for a mission after graduation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith might not be the best at reading people, but he has knowledge no one else has. He knows who to keep an eye out on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically, the Holts. Sam Holt has barely been at the Garrison lately, flying back and forth between DC and Nevada. Matt is playing casual, and doing a good job of it. But he’s been having a lot of dinners with his father and calls home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not started yet. Keith hasn’t even heard rumors. But the groundwork is being set for the Kerberos mission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which means Keith needs to figure out what he wants to do. Kerberos starts everything. But that mission also did permanent damage to Shiro, broke him down and built him back up in a different shape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re so young.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Can Keith let Shiro fly off, knowing what will happen? Does he dare stop him? What does he ruin in the future if someone else goes? What does he ruin in Shiro’s future if he doesn’t get that chance?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It does,” Shiro says. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “For now, let’s focus on the missions we have, first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s so strange to see Shiro nervous over missions and ladder climbing. But then, Keith hadn’t seen much of it last time. Shiro had been his mentor, and his struggles had been hidden from Keith. He didn’t know about Kerberos until the break-up with Adam.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Likely, Shiro had been just as tense last time. This time, Keith just gets to see it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Keith gets to help. So he kisses Shiro again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think I can watch some of your mission training?” Keith asks. “It’ll be hot to watch you order everyone else around. Especially Matt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro barks out a laugh, finally smiling as he kisses Keith back. It makes the press of their lips messy, but that doesn’t matter at all. “You just want revenge after all the times he was a shit during sims.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still smiling, Shiro presses their foreheads together. That dark look melts away, replaced by pride and a hint of teasing. For someone who knows how attractive he is, he’s ridiculously susceptible to compliments. “I’m surprised you’re so interested, given that you’re the bossy one in bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brows jump. He nips Shiro’s bottom lip, just for the fun of watching his pupils expand. “You like it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do,” Shiro says, with devastating sincerity. He cups Keith’s cup and kisses him. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re welcome anywhere you want to be. When we start training, I’ll see if you’re allowed to sit in. It’ll be a good experience anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like Keith cares about that. He wants good missions, but he doesn’t really care about leading them as long as the commander isn’t a moron. He only has to make it a couple of years before they’ll be in Voltron and he doesn’t have to bother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until then, he has to wear this ugly suit and walk around with officers and pretend he belongs there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, if Shiro’s right, believe he belongs there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(As far as Keith is concerned, he belongs with Shiro. The Garrison is just an agreeable place for them both.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives him another kiss. Then he glances to the side and steps away. “You should go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a grumpy noise, completely out of his control. He doesn’t want to go when he can keep trading kisses with Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glances at the time as well, and his frown only deepens. “I have ten more minutes before I need to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your first day. You don’t want to be there a little early?” Shiro wrinkles his nose, realizing that’s his habit and not necessarily a rule. “It’ll be a good impression.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Considering Keith’s worries, that’s not a bad idea. But it was a better idea before there was kissing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s a bad idea to melt against Shiro again. The longer he spends here, the less he’s going to want to leave for mission training.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Keith grumbles. He ignores Shiro’s chuckle and straightens his flight suit one more time, as if that’ll make it look less oversized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one last fond peck, Keith heads out, holding his head high.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to feel like a paladin, like a Blade member. Like someone who knows he deserves his place in this organization.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels like playing pretend, just as much as the flight suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he steps into the ship bay and greets his commanding officer, Keith swallows back his fear. He’s more ready than he was last time around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he’s not ready now, then he just has to prepare more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Easy as that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Matt wants to talk to all of them outside of the Garrison building, Shiro’s stomach drops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not an idiot. He’s noticed the signs, even earlier than he did in the dream. Then, Iverson had been the one to take him aside and introduce him to Sam Holt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Shiro hasn’t spent nearly the same amount of time and energy ingratiating himself to their instructors. But, if anything, his friendship with Matt Holt gives him better opportunities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That hadn’t been Shiro’s intention. If anything, he wanted the opposite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Shiro trails behind Matt as they walk into the dry desert air. At his side, Keith’s head is held high and his eyes are bright. Adam, on the other hand, has his hands stuck in his pockets and his lips pressed thoughtfully thin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam’s reaction makes sense. Matt has been a little absent the past few weeks, and now he’s acting downright suspicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith, on the other hand, is confusing. His expression is neutral, but he doesn’t have the sullen set to his shoulder he gets when he’s confused. It’s like he knows what’s coming and doesn’t want to give it away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is smart, but it’s hard to believe he knows what Matt’s going to say. Hell, Shiro would be surprised if he noticed how much extra time Matt has been spending with his father. Why should he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro finds himself staring at Keith’s profile rather than watching Matt. His mind rolls over the past month, trying to pinpoint what gave the news away to Keith. He can’t find anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then Matt stops at the bus stop shelter and takes a seat. It’s Wednesday, so there’s no bus running to the Garrison, but it at least provides shade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is where they’re talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s questions completely fall away as fear churns in his stomach. He hasn’t felt panic like this since he used to crash the sims in their first month at the Garrison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s all because of the same mission.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we need to do this outside?” Adam asks. He strips off his cadet jacket and folds it in his lap. Despite that, he has an uncomfortable flush on his cheeks. Being out in the desert in midday, wearing the full uniform, is never fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt presses his lips thin and nods. “Yeah. We kind of do.” He leans forward, past the edge of the shelter, and looks back at the Garrison. There’s no one else out, so far as they can see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro suspects the inside of the shelter is also a camera blind spot, knowing Matt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Keith asks. He crosses his arms, but it’s without heat or pressure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt gestures for everyone else to sit too. “C’mon, I’m small enough. I don’t need you giants towering over me.” He stretches out his legs in front of him, then sighs. “So, uh, what I’m about to say? Totally off the books. No talking about it inside unless you want me in so much trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should you even be telling us, then?” Shiro asks, stomach sinking. It’s the coward’s way out, but if Matt says nothing, then Shiro can justify not knowing. He can put off this decision for at least a couple of weeks more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh,” Matt says, flapping a hand. “I don’t really care about NDAs. I’ve been breaking them to contact Dad on missions since I was, like, 12. But I don’t want Dad to get fired or to get discharged so, like, careful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam glances at the rest of them, clearly off balance from Matt’s confession. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Is there something weird happening?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, like aliens? I wish. Nah, just a mission.” Matt leans back on his hands. “But Dad wants me to be able to go, so that technically makes it open to other cadets. But it’s not going to be made public for a while, but it’ll be a really short turn around to apply before it gets big.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, Adam glances around, this time flatly. He’s a good pilot, and he’s patient and brutally effective at making flash decisions. But when it comes to sheer sim scores, he trails behind Shiro and Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In another year, without the two of them, he’d do great. But it has to be frustrating to apply for anything against the pair of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s sorry about that, in a distant sort of way. But it pales in comparison to how much he needs to succeed to compensate for his disease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the mission?” Keith leans forward, eyes narrowed. Even in the shadows of the bus shelter, they’re painfully bright.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kerberos.” Matt tilts his head back, looking up toward the sky, currently blocked by the metal ceiling. “The farthest anyone’s ever gone. Dad’s been researching the formation of the ice there, and he thinks it has the best research about the creation of the solar system.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro knew it was coming. But his stomach still sinks down to his feet. He has to fight to keep his expression neutral, and he grips his knees to keep his hands from shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes a deep breath to steady himself. Adam is staring at Matt, wide-eyed with shock. Matt is still looking up. And Keith-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is staring directly at Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares back, both his brows up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll take months to get to Kerberos,” Keith says, still staring directly at Shiro. “This is probably why they pushed ahead the Mark VII tests. For a new ship. You’ll have the most experience flying with those engines. You have the patience to keep your head all that time. You have a good working relationship with your crewmate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam gives a thin smile, both amused and pouting. “You do fit the bill very well. Thanks a lot, Shirogane.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t-” Shiro cuts off. He grips his pants legs tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt snorts. “C’mon, I didn’t tell you guys so you can put Shiro on a damn pedestal. You should all apply. Better chances I don’t get some hot-shot asshole pilot who wants a feather in his cap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam drawls something back, but the words fade into white noise. Instead, Shiro keeps staring down at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dream, Shiro had wanted this more than anything. It was perfect. Tailor-made for him. The best chance to make his mark on history before he was inevitably shuffled off to desk work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of that is still true. Even without trying, Shiro has managed to set himself up perfectly for this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now nothing frightens him more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will absolutely not bring beer to Kerberos!” Adam says, voice jumping up in volume from sheer disgust. It manages to cut through the haze of Shiro’s worries. “What would your father say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> overestimate how much my dad gives a shit about the rules,” Matt laughs back. “C’mon, it’d be fun! We’d deserve it. Don’t you want a nice cold one after months of flying?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I’d want is to not crash an experimental ship into the side of Pluto.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From one beer? Light weight.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stills again, eyes widening as he listens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he doesn’t apply for Kerberos, that doesn’t mean the Galra don’t attack (assuming they do). It means someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>else</span>
  </em>
  <span> gets taken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It means that Shiro is knowingly setting the Holts up to be captured - including Sam, who was so kind to him once, and Matt, who is one of his closest friends. And some other pilot who doesn’t deserve this. Maybe Adam. Maybe Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, Kerberos goes off without a hitch, and they come home exactly as they were meant to, and Shiro will have passed up the opportunity for a lifetime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, Shiro lives through the hell of the arena twice. And he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough to survive it a second time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is he supposed to do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand settles on Shiro’s shoulder. Lost in the memory of the dream, Shiro jolts, knocking it away as his breathing picks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith draws back, eyes wide and stunned. Worry clouds over his expression. “You okay?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Shiro manages, trying to keep his voice even. “Just thinking. This is a lot. Sorry, you startled me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s lips press thin, but he nods. “It’s fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his words, his eyes are sharp. His gaze roams over Shiro’s face, openly assessing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clearly, Shiro is giving away too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Matt says, kicking his toes through the dusty desert ground. “I wanted you guys to know, so you had a chance to put together a good proposal. I’m tying my senior thesis to a relevant topic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Adam says. He puts his hand on Matt’s shoulder and gives him a firm pat. “It was nice of you to risk your chances to tell us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a minimal risk if you aren’t stupid,” Matt says, waving the compliment off. “And this way I can talk to you guys about it. Win-win.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stands and glances back again, as if someone could have approached in the last few minutes without them all noticing. “We should head in before we’re missed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or before I sweat through my jacket,” Matt agrees, tugging uncomfortably on the lapels. “But, hey, only four more months of these things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we have green jackets instead,” Shiro says, trying to put on a convincing smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt sighs. “You know? I’ll miss the orange. That green is so dull.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam whirls on him, eyes wide like he’s never seen Matt before. “Do you actually like the orange? Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>blind?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The bickering continues back toward the building. Shiro is glad, because it means he doesn’t really need to talk. Even Keith gets pulled in, if only to get to insult the color of the cadet uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they head toward the commissary, Matt slows his pace enough to match Shiro. Then he gives him a gentle nudge. “Hey, Shiro? Apply. Seriously.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s stomach twists into a tighter knot. The smell of food ahead makes his throat tighten against a gag. He makes himself smile anyway. “Thank you. I probably will, but I’m processing still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing to thank me for. That’s a note from Dad.” With a last grin, Matt heads into the line for food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro follows. Blindly, he reaches out for Keith and catches his arm. Usually this is too much PDA, but right now he leans into him, desperate for the contact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith presses back just as firmly. He doesn’t turn to face Shiro, but his eyes track over his face thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro manages a ragged smile for him, the best he has right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs time. He needs to think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dinner passes in a blur. Shiro doesn’t remember what he ate or what was discussed. After, he begs off to his room, claiming he’s turning in early after a poor night’s sleep. Then he goes and lays in his bed in silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours pass. Shiro stares up at the ceiling and tries to get his racing thoughts in order. Instead, they clash and run together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t take that pain again but then someone else will be in pain and will they save Matt and what if it doesn’t happen but what if it does and what if he saves the Holts but what if he can’t and what will Pidge do and is that worth the pain what if it’s Adam or Keith or someone he’s never met-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over and over, round and round, with no answers or stop in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until there’s a knock on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It opens without waiting for Shiro’s call. Keith steps in and crosses his arm. He looks over Shiro, sprawled out in bed, still in full uniform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks, trying to yank his thoughts off their set, circular track and onto the current moment. “Go where?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The roof.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stumbles to his feet. Once he’s up, Keith offers his hand, which Shiro takes. Together, they make their way up to the rooftop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cool air smacks Shiro on the face. The physicality of it draws him into the moment. He’s outside, he’s cold, and Keith’s hand is warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sits down on the concrete and pulls off his jacket, curling it into a long, thin log. Then he leans back, using half of it as a pillow. The other side is clearly for Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Settling down, Shiro lays out and takes Keith’s hand again. Keith says nothing, so Shiro doesn’t either. Instead, he looks up at the stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Garrison’s compound puts off too much light to see everything. Even if it didn’t, the light pollution from Platu City doesn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the sky above them is dark, and what they can see are distant speckles of light. They glimmer as if Shiro could reach up and brush them with his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night sky is as beautiful as ever. It still calls to him, sings through his blood with each heartbeat. Shiro wants to be out there. He wants to go as far as he can. He wants to explore the final frontier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But does it have to hurt so much? How is it fair that every stride Shiro makes toward that dream is met with pain?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you scared?” Keith asks, quiet but painfully blunt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro flinches. He wants to deny it, but this is Keith. He knows him too well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would he say if Shiro turned over and told the truth. If he said he knows this story, that he’s dreamt it all. That if he goes, he’ll be captured. He survives, then he dies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be freeing to finally say it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would also be cruel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, like all those years ago, during those sim runs, Shiro tells the truth, but not the real truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not going to want me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t look at him, eyes still on the night sky. But his frown deepens. “Because of your arms? You think that’ll matter to Matt and his dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles thinly and drapes his arm over his chest. The other keeps a tight hold of Keith. “Not to them. Matt knows.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stills, not even breathing. Then he turns to face Shiro. “You told him? When?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last week.” Shiro turns his head to face Keith in return and shrugs. “Every officer I’ve flown with knew about the risks. It wasn’t fair that the cadets wouldn’t. So I told him and McKay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s lips part, still surprised but understanding. Then his expression hardens. “What did McKay say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a peep. He’s complained about everything from the seats to the mission timing, but not a word about me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brows raise, clearly surprised. He nods and settles back down. “Oh. That was good of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just fair. They should know the risks going in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that proves it, right?” Keith gestures vaguely toward the sky. “People know you. They trust you. Matt knows, so his dad probably does. They don’t care. What’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not just about them,” Shiro says. “There are people above them who make the final decisions. The ones who can veto everything. Who only see me on paper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith goes silent at that. He scoots closer, so they’re pressed together, shoulder to thighs. The heat of him soothes Shiro, and only then does he realize he’s been shaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People will stand up for you. You think Matt Holt’s father is the type of guy to let someone go because a high ranked officer told him to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro cracks a smile, because Keith is right. Sam Holt is exactly the sort of person who will stake his reputation, career, and the mission he’s worked for on one person who deserves a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But maybe it would be better if he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro,” Keith says, low and serious. He pauses until Shiro catches his eyes. “Why are you scared?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s stomach flips and his throat tightens. Under Keith’s steady, brilliant gaze, all that can come out is the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to hurt,” Shiro says, his voice so small. “Fighting. Proving myself. Stepping forward over and over for months. Being knocked down. And at the end, it might come to nothing anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro is shaking again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares, his brow furrowed. For a moment, his eyes track over Shiro’s face, like his words don’t make sense. Finally, it seems to click.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve never known you to give up because something’s hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro barks out a laugh. “You don’t know everything. Sometimes I can be so fucking selfish, Keith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you aren’t.” Keith sits up and climbs over Shiro, his face between him and the cold, starry night above. “Maybe you think so, but you aren’t. I know you. You can do this. You’re going to do great things, Shiro, and you’re ready for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is he? Shiro survived once. He could do it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the first time broke and changed him in ways he never recovered from. In ways he remembers in horrifying detail. Even knowing what’s coming, what happens if Shiro goes through that a second time?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What happens if he doesn’t?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks up into Keith’s calm stare, into the sheer, steady faith in his eyes, and swallows hard. He reaches up and cups his cheek. “I’d be gone for months. I don’t know what state I’ll be in when I get back. Will you be there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a stupid question. Shiro knows the answer this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he has to ask anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles, so softly. Loving. He leans down and kisses Shiro. The press of their lips completely banishes the chill around them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Keith says, simple as that. But there’s no room for doubt in his confidence. He kisses Shiro again. “You deserve that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserve someone who’s there for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are, even if you’re on a mission. Because you believe in me, and because you care.” Keith smiles, soft and warm. “If it weren’t for you, my life would be a lot different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words are familiar. Shiro cocks his head, remembering when he heard them. An alien planet, with a gash in his side. Then, Shiro had joked it off, choking on the guilt and pain he’d felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he surges up to kiss Keith. “Mine would be too. You make me better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I make you see what’s there.” Keith presses their foreheads together. “Are you still scared?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Shiro says. “I think I’ll stay that way. But you help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” With that, Keith flops down, his head on Shiro’s shoulder. They settle in, pressed together as tightly as possible, as they watch more and more stars become visible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro still has a decision to make. He still has thoughts to sort out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith’s faith makes him think he can face everything he needs to. That he’ll make the right decision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, though, Shiro doesn’t have to. Right now, he’s just a young man with his boyfriend, cuddling in the cool air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can be a hero later. Right now, he needs this.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith has never been to a Garrison graduation ceremony before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s never been an occasion to, and Keith frankly has never really cared. He came around a couple of years too late to go to Shiro’s last time around, and he’s never been close to anyone else who graduated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Keith, graduation has been that time of year after exams where the halls are suddenly flooded with families and the traffic outside becomes unbearable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he’d been asked, Keith probably would have guessed the ceremony looked like the ones on TV. Replace the weird robes with dress uniforms, take away the flat hats, include some military people, and boom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is utterly unprepared for the reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first taste comes the day before. There’s a smaller ceremony for cadet awards before everything else starts, but while the families are already there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the awards are for academic achievements. Keith has nothing to do with that - he’s done pretty well, but exams and classrooms have never been where he excels. Matt, however, is up for some research award, and he and Shiro are both graduating summa cum laude. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them are also up for a special distinction award, along with McKay - their history-making cadet-run special mission is apparently worthy of pomp and circumstance. Keith’s glad for them, but he thinks the whole ceremony thing is pretty silly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Keith agrees to come as Shiro’s family. If his boyfriend wants him in the audience while he gets the first pins for his shiny new green uniform, Keith’s not going to argue. Besides, apparently there’s free food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Free food there is. Three courses of it, with strange soups, lamb shanks and cheesecake at the end. It’s downright fancy, down to the three different forks at each seat. Keith honestly has no idea what to do with them all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Admiral Keaton, Chief of Staff of the entire Galaxy Garrison, is the one to give the opening speech, and to pin the badges onto the uniform. For all he can usually keep his cool, Shiro is clearly biting back a beaming smile when he gets his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That alone is worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The food is a great bonus, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it would be an awkward, overly fancy affair on its own, but Keith could manage it without issue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hardest part to handle isn’t the stupid speeches or the drone of names Keith doesn’t really know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s that the entire rest of the Holts sits at the next table over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Including Pidge - or, more accurately, Katie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the Pidge that Keith has never seen, aside from quick glances at that photo she always kept. She wears a satiny dress, her long hair braided back. No glasses sit on her nose. She looks up for food or Matt’s name, but otherwise keeps her head down, eyes surreptitiously on her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is not the Green Paladin. Not the one that Keith knows, anyway. This girl has never had her family ripped apart, and had to steel herself into something stronger to bring them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She never looks over at Keith, and she doesn’t so much as twitch at Shiro’s name. Why would she? She doesn’t know them. Katie Holt has no reason to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith scrapes up the last bit of his garlic mashed potatoes and tries to swallow away the way his stomach twists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Does she know anything about Kerberos, yet? Would she care about Shiro at all if she knew he was the pilot Sam Holt wants for the mission?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How much happier would she be if her brother and father came home safely?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would she ever become the Pidge that Keith knows without that? Is Katie Holt someone who can become the technical backbone of Voltron?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Are cruelty and tragedy needed to become the strongest versions of themselves?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who is Keith to make that call?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the closing statements are finished, and those on the stage are freed to join the tables for food. Shiro makes a beeline for Keith, his chest puffed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles back, though he watches Matt from the corner of his eye. He’s plenty close enough to hear his cry of ‘Katie-bear!” and watch him grab his sister in an intentionally rough bear hug. Then he submits himself to his parents’ affection and congratulations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Shiro sits down, Keith re-focuses on him. He leans in to give him a peck on the cheek, which is about as much PDA as Shiro can tolerate when he’s not mid-breakdown. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks good,” Keith says. He runs a finger over the largest of Shiro’s new badges, which ends in a shining, four-pointed star.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s cheeks flush, like all his excitement can finally leak out now that he’s not on stage. “Thanks. You’ll be getting yours soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith snorts. “Maybe.” If he argues that, Shiro will think he’s being modest, but really Keith just knows he won’t stick around long enough to care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of having that argument, Keith nods to his own plate. “Food’s good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excellent. It was cruel to keep us up there while they were serving dinner. I could smell it.” Shiro tucks in, starting with his soup. “How boring was this all for you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I liked the parts with you in it,” Keith says dryly. “The rest I could have left. Worth it for dinner, I guess.” He keeps his eyes away from the Holts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles back, eyes soft. “Well, I appreciate that you agreed to come.” His eyes roam over the otherwise empty table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s stomach flips. None of the tables are very big, but this one seems empty with just the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no third plate or anything so blunt. But there’s a noticeable empty spot on Shiro’s other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hesitates before putting his hand on Shiro’s knee. It’s under the table, completely covered with an actual tablecloth, so no one can see anyway. “He’d be proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sliding his free hand under the table, Shiro squeezes Keith’s back. “He would,” he agrees simply. Despite how calm his face stays, there’s a wobble to his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first anniversary of Mr. Shirogane’s death was just last week, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s little Keith can say to soothe that pain. Even if there was a phrase that could make the situation better, Keith doubts he knows it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he doesn’t try. Instead he gives Shiro a bracing smile. “You looked like you were going to explode when the general gave you those medals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did not!” Shiro immediately says, his flush deepening. Then he frowns, gaze flickering back up to the stage. “Did I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only to me.” Keith manages to grin, pushing away his worries for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of dinner finishes peacefully. At the end, the pair of them start to head off, only to be stopped by Matt calling for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pauses for a deep breath, and distantly notices Shiro doing the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Matt says, jogging ahead of the rest of the Holts. “C’mon, you guys need to say hi to my family.” He gave them both a pointed look, waggling his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s expression snaps into calm politeness, which is the only clue that he’s reluctant. He probably wants to escape and lick the wound of his grandfather’s death anniversary in peace. “Of course.” He gives the rest of the Holts a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we’ve been introduced before,” Sam says, holding out a hand. Shiro shakes first, then Keith. “But it’s nice to meet you boys again. This is my wife, Colleen, and our youngest, Katie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to meet you two,” Colleen says, smiling as well. “I’ve heard good things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds suspicious,” Keith mutters, before he can catch himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Colleen laughs and nods. “Exactly my fear as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Matt huffs, crossing his arms. “You make it sound like I’m into all sorts of trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking of how he’d started their tradition of going out to bars they’d bribed, Keith only raises his brows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice to meet you too, Katie,” Shiro says. His eyes lock onto her, head just barely cocked. “We’ve heard plenty about you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katie finally looks up from her phone and narrows her eyes at Matt. “Why’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I have the smartest little sister in the whole wide world,” Matt says, fluttering his lashes. “And I get to tell everyone about how cool you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Katie presses her lips thin, openly suspicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It sounds like he’s kidding, but he’s not,” Shiro says, voice lowering like he’s telling a secret. “He really does brag about you constantly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eyes wide, Katie stares at him. “Oh,” she says. “That’s kind of weird, but okay. Uh, nice to meet you too.” She doesn’t add an ‘I guess’ to the end, but it’s still audible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and the dog,” Keith adds, sliding his hands into his pocket. “We hear a lot about the dog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods and beams. “Mostly because I ask after her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you should come over and meet her sometime.” Sam smiles. His tone is perfectly welcoming, but there’s a sharp, assessing light to his eyes. “Friends of Matt are always welcome.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stiffens. Shiro doesn’t, but that’s probably an act of will. It’s clear that, friends or no, this is an interview with a commanding officer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro recovers first and gives another, more polite smile. “That would be great, sir. I think we’re both finalizing our positions and schedules after graduation, but I’m sure we can find time after.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be sure to do so.” Sam offers them both another set of shakes, before the Holts make their excuses and head off. They’re quickly pulled into another conversation with Admiral Keaton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith gives a dry smile. “Poor Matt’s not getting out of here for another hour, is he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure he’s used to it, given his dad.” Shiro puts his arm around Keith’s shoulders - a rare, open display of affection. “Ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night’s ceremony makes Keith think he knows what’s about to come. Some dinner, some big wigs babbling on and on. He imagines he’ll be standing up there with the rest of his year, brain pouring out of his skull from boredom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is right. But he’s also wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Garrison always gets them up bright and early, so the 8 am start time is nothing new. What is strange is to be stuffed in a hallway with the entire graduating class, and for the attitude to be so... welcoming. Jovial, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re all ushered into lines by alphabetical order, but with start time half an hour away, that’s promptly ignored. Everyone groups up with their friends, but it’s more than that. In the giddy haze, it’s like every sharp remark or fight is forgiven.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Part of Keith gets that. They’re all about to be officers in the same organization. But another part of him, still young and bristled, can’t imagine letting those old hurts go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, Keith gets more claps on the back and congrats than he ever has in his life, from people whose names he barely remembers. O’Hare actually hugs him, as if their time on the same crew in second year was a life-changing occurrence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith responds as best he can, patting O’Hare awkwardly on the back until she gives him a teary, beaming smile and wanders off. Next to him, Adam chuckles at his obvious discomfort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never actually graduated high school, since he transferred to the Galaxy Garrison instead. But the energy reminds him of the last day of middle school, where everyone frantically signed each other’s yearbooks and promised to keep in touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except this time, people actually want Keith in their metaphorical yearbooks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At 7:50, Shiro leans against the wall and gives them all a wild smile. He looks perfectly put together, but there’s buzzing energy below his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes Keith want to drag him away and kiss him until he can taste it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone ready?” Shiro says, looking over Keith, Matt and Adam. “This is it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So ready.” Matt stretches his arms out behind him, enough to make truly disgusting cracking noises. “A nice cushy research position is going to be a vacation after four years of this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam rolls his eyes, but even his sharp humor is softened this morning. “That sounds like more torture to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Says the guy who actually chose to keep going to classes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be fair,” Shiro says, before Adam can do more than narrow his eyes. “Assistant teaching is a little different than taking the classes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to do great,” Keith says. He never had any of Adam’s classes last time around, but he’d never heard anything bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Adam softens, eyes wide at the rare sentimentality from Keith. “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Matt flutters his lashes at them. “What about you two? You going to get a place together?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro glances at Keith, brows up. They’ve discussed it, but not deeply. Graduation hadn’t felt real yet. “We have a place to stay for a couple of weeks until we know what to expect in the immediate future. Then we’ll get something more long-term. But I think it’d be nice to have a place in the city.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods. They’ll be at the cabin for a week or two, finishing up the repairs they didn’t finish over the year. After that, they need to look into renting Shiro’s home, or otherwise doing something with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wherever they end up, Keith’s just content that it’ll be him, Shiro, and a year of missions. He’ll probably be on his own for three months, assuming Shiro gets the Titan pilot position he’s applied for. But they can send videos the whole time, so that’ll be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Keith, the time in between graduation and Voltron has been a vague stretch of time. Something to waste away before their lives really begin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, though, Keith is really starting to think of it as their </span>
  <em>
    <span>lives.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors open, and an officer steps out and calls for them to all get back into positions. Keith’s heart jumps to his throat, and he finds himself smiling despite how nonsense the whole upcoming ceremony is going to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can turn to head back, Matt lunges forward, physically hopping up to grab all three of them in a hug. “Just ‘cause we’re graduating doesn’t mean we don’t get to hang out anymore,” he says. “We’re all on campus. It’s required.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith thinks of those yearbooks again, of fond goodbyes between people who will never actually see each other again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he hugs Matt back. “You know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they separate again, Keith’s chest feels too warm and his stomach twists like he’s about to cliff dive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But at least he’s doing better than Matt, who rapidly blinks to hide his reddening eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, the ceremony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just as long and pretentious as Keith expected. The lights on the stage are blinding. He can barely see out into the crowd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first few rows are all officers, most of whom are either instructors or highly ranked. Past that, rows and rows of family, all proud to see the newest generation of graduates become officers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s throat tightens against an unexpected pang. Pops would have loved to be here. So would Krolia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his eyes, Keith commits the entire thing to memory as much as possible. He hopes that someday he’ll get to recount this to his mother. He hopes she’ll smile as much as the parents out in the crowd are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The speeches are no more interesting than he expected, but they pass by far more quickly. They cycle through various speakers, each of whom address a different group: the officers, the cadets, the guests, and the fallen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the length of each of the responses (and the final moment of silence), it feels like the graduating class is ushered off the stage almost as soon as they were shoved up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After comes more speeches, made more pleasant by the addition of dinner. And if Keith thought yesterday was fancy, it has nothing on today. Delicately cooked steak and full lobster tails are served to everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Keith lets himself wonder if Adam had the right idea. The teaching gig means that every year he gets a free, lavish meal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he remembers the job means dealing with classes upon classes of teenagers. Sense returns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a final toast and one final speech, again from Admiral Keaton. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome,” he says to close them out, smiling wide over the group of them. “To your future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it’s over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re no longer students. Now, they are full-fledged officers of the Galaxy Garrison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they shuffle out, Shiro catches Keith’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Lieutenant Kogane,” he greets, utterly calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blinks, because those words feel wrong together. But Shiro’s eyes are so warm and so very proud that all he can do is smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lieutenant Shirogane,” Keith returns, tone as even as he can make it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives up and beams at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a touch of sadness in his eyes, and Keith suspects his own show the same. The absences are painful and obvious for both of them. There’s empty space in the crowd for both of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But they’re also both here for each other. And that’s enough. More than enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro leans in and kisses him, open and passionate, despite the crowd of new officers and family around them. “Hm. We should head to your place. These new uniforms need christening.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith barks out a laugh. “Yeah right, like you would ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what? I think I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hand in hand, both in officer green, they walk out into the sunshine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, inevitably the changes to their lives become mundane.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They spend the next two weeks at the cabin, during which they finish up any last repairs and sign a lease for an apartment. Shiro had asked Keith if he wanted to make the cabin a more permanent home, but he’d been adamantly opposed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro isn’t complaining. He’s much happier in a building with electricity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The act of shopping around for a place is new, and Shiro enjoys it for sheer novelty. They find a good apartment complex on the very edges of the city. Compared to the officer quarters in the Garrison, it’s downright luxurious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The worst part is that the location is popular with other Garrison members - Shiro is still trying to get used to higher-ranked officers out walking their dogs or getting their mail. It’s a strange culture class that Keith can’t fathom and laughs at him for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their graduating class is given a couple of weeks to settle, and then they’re expected to launch into their careers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is almost immediately snapped up into meteor belt pilot training. There are a thousand needs out there, from rescues to supply shipments to location scouting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The varied, random nature of the belt makes it hard for computers to keep up - instead, pilots are expected to rely on their own skills. Unsurprisingly, Keith takes to it like a duck to water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Personally, Shiro thinks that the position undersells Keith’s skills. He could be assigned to something with far more prestige. But Keith has never cared about that, and he seems to enjoy the position. So Shiro keeps his mouth shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time they sign the lease, Shiro goes to his final interview for the next Titan mission. He walks in with a bitter taste and a polite smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The interview is easy, because in his dream, he also nailed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Titan will be a perfect mission for him. He’ll be the junior pilot, trading off shifts and proving he can do long-distance travel. He’ll work with scientists and communications officers, checking on the long-term experiments left on the moon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time, Shiro picked it because it was the absolute perfect mission to prove he was right for Kerberos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Shiro picks it because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The schedule works out perfectly anyway. Titan will take three months, and Keith will spend four in the meteor belt. Their schedules overlap as well as they could have hoped, with only five weeks where they aren’t both busy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even so, Shiro’s stomach turns. He liked the Titan mission in the dream. It was a great experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro feels like he’s being led. Like he’s an actor, playing his part in the tragedy to come. He smiles and pretends he doesn’t know what the next act contains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s no proof that aliens are going to kidnap them. The very idea is as absurd as it had been when Shiro was ten. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The past four years have given Shiro plenty to convince himself his dream won’t come true. Keith’s presence, for one, and the change of his feelings from ‘brother’ to ‘boyfriend’. His friendships are different, his relationships are different, his life is different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But not really. Only in little, superficial ways. Shiro never really changed anything. He didn’t drop out of the Garrison, he didn’t fall to the middle or bottom of his class, he didn’t change tracks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t save Grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In hindsight, all his attempts to prove that his life isn’t set in stone feel insubstantial. Childish. Like he picked a different color for the same toy and felt smug about his autonomy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, Shiro gets a phone call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t answer it, because he doesn’t recognize the number. But he knows the voice in recording, even without the greeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello, Lieutenant. This is Commander Holt. I hope you don’t mind me calling your personal phone. Matt said this was the best place to reach you. I was hoping you and Lieutenant Kogane are still interested in coming over for dinner. Let me know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sits at their tiny kitchen table, holding his phone in the palm of his hand. He’s listened to the message three times now, and he knows it’ll be more before he makes a choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To go to Kerberos, or not to go to Kerberos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Put more plainly: To be or not to be?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Shiro has no faith he’ll survive a second round in the arena. Even considering the possibility makes his whole body go cold with terror. He made it through the first time, but so much of that was sheer, stupid luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In each and every one of those fights, he was one wrong move away from death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During each and every one of those nights, he was one wrong comment from being killed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dream, the arena broke Shiro down. The man who left for Kerberos was simply not the man who returned. No matter what he projected or pretended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hits play again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hello, Lieutenant. This is Commander Holt.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Kerberos didn’t randomly attract the attention of passing aliens who may or may not actually exist, then it was still the greatest mission Shiro could ever hope to be put on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was Shiro’s one, singular chance to achieve his goals for himself. He could continue up the ladder, getting slightly better missions one at a time, and his disease would catch up with him before he could really make a difference.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro wants Kerberos. He wants the Kerberos that should be. Flying to Pluto, comfortable with the Holts. Collecting ice samples that could affect humanity's understanding of their solar system’s origins. Putting his name down in history.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I hope you don’t mind me calling your personal phone. Matt said this was the best place to reach you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if the worst is true. Even if Kerberos goes down the way Shiro dreamed...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then someone else will go. Someone like Keith, or any other talented pilot. Someone who has no idea what’s coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Can Shiro live with himself if he knows he sent someone else off to be killed in the arena? If he sends </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keith?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I was hoping you and Lieutenant Kogane are still interested in coming over for dinner.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if Shiro can’t take the Arena again, even if he’s killed...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he’s dead anyway eventually. Maybe the best thing he can do with his life is to protect Matt and take the place of another pilot who can do more with their life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Afterall, Shiro’s dream is selfish. He wants to fly. He wants to go down in history. If he can turn that into saving the universe with Voltron, that’s perfect. But until then, Shiro’s dream is to win the race against his own ticking clock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it’s better for him to do something that saves lives.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But dammit, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>fair.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Why does Shiro have to sacrifice himself? Why is it his responsibility to take the pain and the suffering? Isn’t it enough to simply live a life he’s proud of?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro’s not sure he can live with himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Let me know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It seems like the right answer. To go, and resign himself to the possibilities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro is still sitting here, heart iced over, listening to this same fucking message over and over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, Shiro sets the phone down face down on the table. He’s alone, so he lets himself clutch at his hair, muscles taut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His right fingers are just as warm and soft as the left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fighting to kill. Starvation. Losing his arm. Being cloned. Being killed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Shiro of his dream was many things, but he wasn’t a coward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet the Shiro of now, the person he is, can’t bring himself to submit a fucking application.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But if he doesn’t-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s back in the same cycle of worries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Shiro groans, pressing his forehead down hard enough that his skull aches. “Just do the right thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s probably not even real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet he’s still stuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smacks his fist down on the table. He feels the impact against his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It does nothing to help his dilemma. Obviously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A jangle of keys interrupts his tangled thoughts. Shiro jolts upward just as the door opens. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith comes through, carrying grocery bags. He casually kicks the door closed behind him. “Hey, the store was out of the usual frozen pizza. I got another brand so we’ll see-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks over at Shiro and freezes. Then his brows come together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Shiro says. His stomach flips. He doesn’t enjoy this. He doesn’t want to have to lie to Keith on top of everything else he’s trying to handle. But what else are his options? “I’m sure the other brand is fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s frown deepens. He drops the bags of groceries right there in the hallway and moves to Shiro, rubbing over his forehead. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was there anything fragile in there?” Shiro cranes to look around Keith’s side. “There’s no way any eggs survived that. And the pizza is going to thaw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes hold of Shiro’s jaw and yanks him back, forcing him to look him in the eye. His frown deepens, getting downright thunderous. “Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, okay, avoiding the question isn’t working.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” Shiro says. “I had my head down on the table for too long, probably. Is there a mark?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cocks his head, considering Shiro. Then he runs his hand down to Shiro’s shoulder and squeezes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s obvious that Shiro is tense enough to snap in half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t say a word. His brows just raise up and he plants himself back on his heels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same stubborn, fighting stance he takes when he won’t be moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “It’s Kerberos. Commander Holt invited us over for dinner again, like after graduation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s determined,” Keith says plainly. “Both of us, or just you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Both.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith on Kerberos. Keith in the Arena. Keith fighting as hard as he can, never letting them push him around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The very thought makes Shiro swallow back a gag.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it was just the combat, Shiro believes Keith would be able to survive with some luck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it’s not. It’s also the nights in between. Learning when to obey the jailers. When to duck his head and accept small pains and injustices in the name of survival. When to accept humiliation and dehumanization just to survive another day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could Keith do that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Goosebumps form over Shiro’s arms. He shivers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, of fucking course, Keith notices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hooks his foot on one of the kitchen chairs and pulls it over. Then he sits, still facing Shiro. His annoyance is gone, leaving concern behind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, Shiro doesn’t deserve him. Keith doesn’t need someone tangled in so many knots - or who lies to his face all the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does this bother you so much?” Keith asks plainly. “What makes Kerberos different?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you,” Shiro says, struggling to keep his voice even. “I know I’m going to have to spend so much time fighting, and it might all be for nothing. Is it even worth it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods slowly, but it’s not in understanding. It’s simply thoughtful. “It might be hard. But so was convincing them to make the Argo test all cadets. It’ll be a fight for the Titan mission too, and you had no problem with that application. What’s different about Kerberos?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Freezing, Shiro looks down at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has no answer. No excuse. He could mention his arms. But he knows his disease will hold out long enough, and he would have the same fear for Titan. He doesn’t, and he’s never pretended to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stupid. Such a stupid fucking slip-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warmth surrounds his fingers. Shiro’s head snaps up. Keith has taken both his hands in his own, cupping them gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Shiro. I'm on your side. I just want to understand, because this isn’t like you. What is it about this mission?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro closes his eyes against Keith’s pleading gaze. Anger he could manage. Demands he could deflect. But this...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith might as well have grabbed him by the throat. Shiro feels just as exposed, just as vulnerable. Just as threatened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I don’t want to?” Shiro asks. “What if I didn’t apply. What would you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s silence in reply. It goes on long enough that Shiro finally looks again, just to understand why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s mouth is open. He looks honestly stunned, which is odd. Shiro’s been putting this application off for over a month now. Is it so surprising that he might pass on it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But...” Keith swallows hard, still off-balance. “If you don’t want to, sure. Of course I'll support you. This just seems like exactly what you've been looking for. You did- I thought you’d do anything to join.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shame wells up in Shiro’s throat. Once, he would have. Once, he’d sacrificed the one person willing to be with him for Kerberos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, he’d had courage. Once, he’d believed the stars held only freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should.” Shiro’s voice waivers around the words. He winces, because he’s not really doing himself favors. “It’d be good. But... I just don’t want to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes flicker over Shiro’s face, as if he’s checking to make sure he’s the right person. As if he’s looking for a fake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Compared to the person in Shiro’s dreams, Keith isn’t wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you don’t want to, of course that’s fine.” The way he says it, Keith doesn’t sound like it’s fine. Instead, it sounds like he thinks something is wrong. “Just... please. Explain to me why. What’s different now? What changed from before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro frowns, because this isn’t new. He’s applied for and interviewed for Titan since the first time he heard about Kerberos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking off the oddity, Shiro looks away. “It’s a long time to be away, right? And this is more important than a relatively routine Titan mission. The brass are going to hate me on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not just apply? You might not be picked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he will. Shiro knows so, if real life follows the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the point?” Shiro pulls his hands away from Keith’s gentle grip, folding his arms instead. He doesn’t want that comfort wearing away at his control. “Better to save everyone the trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who cares what the brass thinks? You never have.” Keith pulls his hands back as if wounded by Shiro’s withdrawal. Then his frown deepens - that hurt is turning to frustration. “You don’t need to fight. Holt will. If he wants to, let him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dammit. Shiro shrugs jerkily, looking away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro!” The frustration bleeds into Keith’s voice, now. “I don't care about Kerberos. I just want to understand <em>you.</em> Why are you being like this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Keith is right. Because he should take the chance, he should show the brass wrong. He should do exactly what he did last time. Shiro should do the right thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But fuck, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t want to.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why does it matter?” Shiro shoots back, his own tone darkening to match Keith’s. “If I don’t want to, why do I need to justify it? Less competition for someone else. What’s it matter if I don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro grinds his teeth together, shoulders hunching. “Why? Did you want to get rid of me for a few months? Or maybe I’m only fun for you when I’m being the hotshot pilot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not fair. Shiro knows he’s not being fair. He doesn’t even think that. But fuck, he wants Keith to stop asking. He can’t explain, and even if he did-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What would Keith think of him for being such a fucking coward?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith lets out a low noise, terrifyingly close to a growl. Then he kicks out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s chair jolts, spinning around from the impact to one leg. It forces him to face Keith again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It forces him to see the anger twisting Keith’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Keith, expression twisted in pain and anger, blocking Shiro’s blows and tuning out his taunts.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck are you even-?” Keith stands abruptly, his hair whipping around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro swallows, sure he’s going to storm off. Lick his wounds in private, get away from Shiro until he can tolerate him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he underestimated Keith’s dedication, because he just plants his feet, shoulder-length apart and ready for a fight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to tell me what’s going on with you,” Keith says. “I’ve let this go on too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro braces one palm on the table, bristling again. He always hates the way Keith looks like he needs to fight during an argument, but he especially doesn’t like it when Keith is looming over him. Not when he has the arena on his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve already told you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you didn’t.” Keith leans in and jabs a finger in Shiro’s chest. “What makes Takashi Shirogane turn and hide away? That’s not the man I love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s heart stops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s exactly what he’s been saying in his head. But it hurts so much more to hear it from Keith’s mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not him,” Shiro says. He feels stunned, like he was smacked in the head hard enough to daze him. “I tried. I know I should. I know he would. But I’m not him. He’s better than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes go wide. His hand drops and his expression falls. “Shiro...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t,” Shiro continues, voice thready. His hands are shaking. He should increase the setting on his bracers. “I’m not strong enough, Keith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are. I know you are.” Keith cups Shiro’s cheek, searching over his face again. “You’re so strong, Shiro. Trust me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shakes his head and slams his eyes shut. Going from that anger to the pain to this gentleness is too much too fast. He’s not about to cry, but he might just shatter apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not,” he admits, small and so terribly weak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes a deep breath. He leans in and brushes his lips over Shiro’s, so soft their lips barely connect. A whisper of a kiss. “I’ll support you no matter what. But Shiro, I know you’ll be great. Please, just tell me. Why are you scared?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t go through it,” Shiro says. “Not again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not until Keith freezes that Shiro realizes what he said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again?” Keith repeats. He pulls away sharply, his whole body tense. “What do you mean again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro tries to think of an excuse. A way to twist his own words to justify himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s so, so very tired of this. He’s so tired of lying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if Keith knows the truth, if he hears the full story, then he’ll understand. He’ll push Shiro to do the right thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Shiro takes a deep breath, steeling himself. Then he looks up and meets Keith’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something to tell you.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes flicker over Shiro’s face, trying to understand the last ten minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kerberos has been a sore spot for months now. They had extra time to think it over thanks to Matt’s warning, and so he’s had plenty of chances to watch Shiro edge nervously around the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the life of him, Keith has no idea where this reluctance comes from. Did it exist last time around, and Shiro simply kept it to himself? Or is there something different in this universe?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, Shiro had sacrificed everything for the opportunity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, he won’t even apply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something is changed, and Keith needs to understand. Not just for their future, not just for Voltron, but because this is twisting Shiro into knots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again. He can’t do this </span>
  <em>
    <span>again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What happened to Shiro in this universe that he’s never shared with Keith? What hurt him so deeply that he’s shaking like he’s wounded?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith takes hold of Shiro’s hands again. He settles back into his chair, because Shiro’s attitude makes it sound like this will be a long talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can tell me anything,” Keith says, and means it. Is there anything Shiro could say that would shake Keith’s faith in him? No way. That belief has survived mind-controlled clones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro squirms, which only makes Keith more worried. Whatever is wrong, it has to be big for Shiro to be acting like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so,” Shiro says, so small. So scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It brings to mind little moments. Admitting he was getting worse after their first year. Telling Keith that he was afraid to push his grandfather. Clutching that damn cane and insisting it was his fault his grandfather died.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is how Shiro confesses. It’s how he bears his soul when he thinks he’s done something wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith only tightens his grip on Shiro’s hands, prepared to soothe through whatever is coming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Shiro gives a humorless, flat laugh. “I’m trying to figure out where to begin. Where to start.” He bites his bottom lip, eyes on their joined hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rubs his thumb over the back of Shiro’s hand, to give him something to look at and to comfort. “Maybe the beginning?” He winces, because that’s such a stupid, inane thing to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shiro only barks out another dull laugh. “I suppose so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes silent again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith waits. His heart pounds, and he tenses against his immediate instincts. He wants to pace, to go searching for whatever is causing Shiro such pain and worry so he can hit it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even now, Keith isn’t sure if that’s a Galra instinct, or just how he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Shiro starts again. “It started... I was ten years old. I had a dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t look up, so he doesn’t notice.“It was... fantastical. Insane. Terrifying. I couldn’t sleep for the rest of the night, and in the morning Grandfather could barely make me let go of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Licking his lips, Keith tries to keep his breathing steady. A nightmare at ten years old isn’t an unusual occurrence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t mean...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dreamt... years. Decades. In such detail. About going to the Garrison, and graduating. Going on missions. And after.” Shiro hesitates, then finally picks his head up. His eyes are huge and red-rimmed. “I dreamt of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Keith responds. It’s on autopilot, as his own mind scrambles wildly. What Shiro is saying is so close but so </span>
  <em>
    <span>vague.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He needs to know before he can respond, before he makes this even more confusing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces. “I know that sounds... I’ve never told anyone. It’s nuts, right? I have enough wrong with me. I didn’t need to be dragged to more doctors. But... yes. You. But not like we met. Years later. You weren’t even a cadet and I’d graduated.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s mouth hangs open. It feels dry, and not from the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This- after all these years. After all this time and guilt. There’s no way. There’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>no way.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He should say something. Join in. Soothe the open fear in Shiro’s eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Keith can’t. His brain is stuttering, working too fast and tripping over the shock. He’s spent a decade thinking he’s alone in his knowledge, and the bold contradiction is like a smack to the face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro winces. He twitches like he wants to duck his head again, but holds himself steady. “I know how it sounds. But it was you, Keith. Like how you were when we met, just at a different point in my life. I mentored you. And you were the one who supported me when... when I signed up for Kerberos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Again. Keith understands, with stunning, painful clarity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro isn’t really scared of the admirals, or the work, or the journey. He’s scared of something much more dangerous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sam picked me. Fought for me, just like you said. Won. I flew us to the edge of the solar system. And... we weren’t alone. There were...” Shiro finally looks away again. He pulls his hands back, defensive. “We were captured. By aliens. The Galra. We were taken. Tortured.” His voice cracks on the last word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That open, raw pain is what finally breaks through. Keith reaches out and puts his hand on Shiro’s cheek once again. The way his boyfriend flinches back makes Keith’s heart ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you survived,” Keith continues for him. “You escaped, with a little help. You got yourself home. And then I got you back from the Garrison.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, it’s Shiro who freezes. He stares at Keith’s mouth as if the shape of it is suddenly alien and strange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s exactly how Keith has been feeling for the last minute, so he gives a bland smile. “We - all five of us - found the Blue Lion. Found the Castle of Lions. Formed Voltron. Am I right?” Keith pauses and winces. “Please tell me I’m not saying nonsense to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did you know?” Shiro bursts out. “Did- I’ve never told anyone. I think.” His brow furrows as one leg bounces in sheer, anxious confusion. “Unless I forgot? Was I drunk? I’ve never been that drunk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Shiro.” A tiny, wild laugh escapes Keith. Because he can’t believe this. He can’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Four years of knowing each other. Four years of being attached at the hip. And both of them kept this so carefully secret that the other didn’t know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, not that careful. Maybe the sheer absurdity of it is why they never realized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles at him, his eyes wet with sheer relief. All the lying is over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not alone. Shiro is </span>
  <em>
    <span>just like him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was ten years old,” Keith says. “I had a dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mouth falls open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dreamt of clawing my way through school, no one believing in me until one Garrison officer came and saw something in me. Mentored me even when I got in fights and was threatened with expulsion. Until you went to Kerberos and I was told you’d died. When you came back, I was ready. We went and saved the universe together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro smiles, at first small and unsure, then brightly. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>remember.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Keith, you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surging forward, Shiro pulls Keith into a tight hug, yanking him into his lap. He squeezes tightly, the strength of someone who once had a metal, alien prosthetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hugs him back, with the strength of someone with Galra lineage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You never said,” Shiro mumbles into his shoulder. “All these years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither did you,” Keith returns. He threads his hands into Shiro’s hair, petting through the all-black locks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lets out a watery laugh. “Why would we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he goes still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pulls back far enough to see the pain on Shiro’s face. “What?” His heart sinks. “Is it weird, now? Because you didn’t... before?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t what?” Shiro’s hands settle on Keith’s hips, automatically helping keep his balance. “No, I just... it’s all real then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods, meaning it in reassurance. But Shiro’s tone is heavy, like a weight as settled on his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t sure,” Shiro says. “All this time. So much is the same, but so much is different, too. So I thought maybe the future parts were wrong too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s... disappointed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s reels back, discomforted. Yes, not all of it was good, but Voltron was a shining, glorious future. Everything they could both want. Everything a scared, unwanted foster child could dream of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for Shiro-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Capture. Torture. A year he barely survived, and didn’t get through in one piece.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No fucking wonder he’s scared of Kerberos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you before,” Keith says, while he still struggles to process the entirely </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span> perspective Shiro has on their memories. “You’re going to be great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives a bland, tired smile. “You think so much more of me than I am.” He leans forward and rests his forehead on Keith’s shoulder. “I know I survived it before. But it’s worse, Keith. It’s worse to walk into it and know what’s going to happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cradles him close, still in awe that he gets to do this. Not just for this version of Shiro, but with the other one too. His Shiro is somehow </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Keith still gets to press a kiss into his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” Keith says. He could care less about the consequences to the universe. They’ll figure it out. Shiro doesn’t need to purposefully fly himself to become a captive of the Galra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if I don’t, it’s someone else!” Shiro yanks back yet again, eyes wide. He’s still tense - still guilty. “I’ll just send some other pilot to get tortured. And what happens to Matt? If I don’t attack him, then he goes to fight Myzax, and...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s heart clenches and a shudder runs through his whole body. He pets through Shiro’s hair, just to have something to do with the sudden, painful energy running through him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once, Matt’s theoretical death had been a tragedy, but a distant one. He was a co-worker and Pidge’s brother, but nothing more personal than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, Keith knows him. They’re friends, even if Matt often annoys the shit out of him. The idea of that bright, playful smile being ended by some brute in the Galra arena...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I stay, we know what happens to me.” Shiro holds up a wrist and tugs down his shirt, showing the cuffs. “This time, I don’t know what will happen. But why waste away here when I can do good for Matt and Sam and the other pilot, right? Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leans back, so far he nearly falls back off Shiro’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he grabs Shiro by the collar of his shirt and </span>
  <em>
    <span>shakes</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you saying- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> you! You don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span> to die so people who aren’t sick can live. That’s not your goddamn purpose. Even if you weren’t the Black Paladin and Atlas’ captain, even if you were some random guy, that doesn’t mean you deserve to be sacrificed because of what you were born with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stares at him, eyes wide, face pale, hair ruffled from Keith’s harsh yank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he surges up to kiss Keith, desperate and hungry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith kisses back, heart pounding. He keeps his hold on Shiro’s shirt, using it to pull him in even closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess it’s not weird,” Keith mutters when they pull apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks, clearly confused. “What would be weird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kissing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro opens his mouth. Closes it. Winces. “Yes, I suppose it might be for you. I don’t know what changed for you compared to last time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brow furrows. “What? Because we’re both younger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nose crinkled, Shiro cocks his head. “I mean, you said before I was like a brother.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He says it so simply. So factually. Like it was the one thing different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith covers his face with one hand and lets out a wild laugh. “Shiro. You’re- you’ve always been a lot to me. In a lot of ways. But trust me, kissing you was something I thought about </span>
  <em>
    <span>plenty.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- you-” Shiro absolutely goggles at Keith. It’s likely the most shocked Keith has ever seen him, in either life. Including when he showed up three years older, with his missing mother and a supposedly extinct alien species.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could they have been doing this </span>
  <em>
    <span>last time</span>
  </em>
  <span> too?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isn’t that a bittersweet fucking thought?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “Later. Figuring out Kerberos is important. We need to decide out what to do.” He runs his hands up and down Keith’s thighs, idle movement while he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right. Lives are on the line.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Assuming everything goes just like last time, then the three crew members of the Kerberos ship are going to be abducted. It’s likely most of them will be killed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last time, Shiro had managed to save Matt and keep himself alive. But he lived through that once. Keith has no intention of subjecting it to him again, not if he doesn’t want to. And even if Shiro did somehow want to go through with the arena again, Keith would just have to think of a third option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually, speaking of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Could we delay the mission?” Keith asks slowly. “It’s not going to happen for over a year anyway, not until they finish testing the new Argo engines and build the ship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s eyes suddenly brighten. He looks to Keith with awe. “If the timing is off, no one gets captured. I could go to Kerberos and be safe.” But then he frowns. “But the Holts getting captured is why Pidge is around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s true. Katie Holt is just a normal, if genius, kid right now. At best, she’ll show up at the Garrison a year after everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which... which does technically put her in the Garrison at the right time. Keith, Lance and Hunk had all been in second year naturally. Pidge had lied her way into skipping a grade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So they’ll be 16 and 17 respectively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re going to be kids,” Keith says, eyes wide. He meets Shiro’s eyes, feeling like he’s been shoved. “We were kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gives a flat little laugh. “Yeah, we were. Didn’t stop any of you, but... I never forgot it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of them but Shiro had even had real flight hours at that point. And they’d flown giant robot lions to save the universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was absurd, in a way Keith can only appreciate now that he’s gone through his own training.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But back then it had been so </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could wait?” Keith offers. “We’re trying to delay the Kerberos mission. We could give them more time. Let them graduate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But that gives the Galra more time to terrorize the universe,” Shiro sighs. “And to search for the lions. They’d already found Red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also true. Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith swallows. He glances past Shiro as he thinks, eyes idly tracing over the walls. Onto the window, which faces out into the desert separating Platu City from the Galaxy Garrison. He can just barely see the shape of rock formations in the distance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” Keith says, eyes locking onto the haze on the horizon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shrugs one shoulder. “I guess delaying Kerberos is first. We can worry about the rest of the timing then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean, things are different now. We know they are. We don’t know everything that’s different. But we can check on some.” Keith nods to the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro follows his gaze, then stills. “Oh. That would be smart to do first, wouldn’t it?” He looks back at Keith and gives a tiny, sad smile. “You still remember where you searched in that desert?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe. But we can stay at my place and figure it out.” He smiles at Shiro. “Feel like camping?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It really isn’t camping when you have a mattress,” Shiro returns. “But we were going to replace the old one soon anyway.” He gives a smile, bright and adventurous. Just like the first time he got the simulation right (and oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t that put those crashes in perspective.) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go find the Blue Lion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It actually doesn’t take too long for Keith to find the right spot. Between his childhood and his year of exile, his knowledge of the desert is second to none. As useful as his mental map is, Shiro still hates how much he suffered during that year alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They make their way toward the Blue Lion’s cave. The trip, short as it is, gives them time to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No wonder you were all prepared to ride off that cliff,” Shiro groans. He presses against Keith’s back, content to let him fly the hoverbike to their destination. His eyes slide to the side, looking out the direction the cliff would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith makes a curious noise, which is swallowed by the wind. Shiro feels the vibrations from his neck rather than actually hear it. “Oh, you mean back after the simulations? Yeah, totally knew how to do it already. So did you, apparently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I would have had the physical reflexes yet,” Shiro admits. “But yes, I knew the theory. I think I could have managed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn’t look back, not when he needs to keep his eye on the shifting desert earth. But he tenses, which gives away that he’s frowning. “Why did you freak out so bad, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro closes his eyes. Even now, years later and with a completely changed perspective, the memory makes his heart pound. “I didn’t know you knew. And I didn’t want to watch you fall. Or catch me. Not again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bike slows as Keith’s attention wanes. “Oh, Shiro,” he murmurs, painfully soft. “I would. In a heartbeat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve done it too many times already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just once.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith chuckles, and again Shiro feels it more than hears it. “As many times as it takes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro buries his face in Keith’s shoulder and holds on tightly. It’s such a complicated mash of feelings, to hear those words. Pride, gratitude, shame. “It’d be nice if you had to save me less often, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That, I’ll agree on. Best way to do that is to keep you safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shadow of the rock formations falls over them. Shiro wouldn’t be able to recall the exact shape of them or the resonance line that Hunk followed. But the pattern and the location are familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re getting close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Keith says, drawled in the way that means he’s trying to be casual. “You and Adam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stills, not sure where Keith is going with this. It occurs to him that Keith knows exactly how that relationship ended - and how bad Shiro is at relationships. But he still wants Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just noticing it was a big change you made. Now it makes more sense, I guess. You knew what would happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sighs and closes his eyes. “I did. Having that experience didn’t help. But... I’m not sure. Maybe I would have if it was just me and him. But I already had a hopeless crush on you by then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith goes quiet at that. Without being able to see his face, Shiro can’t tell why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon after, though, he coasts, then brings the hoverbike to a stop. “We’ll have to walk from here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding, Shiro climbs off the bike. He dusts off his pants, which are covered in sand from their ride. He’ll get dirty again as they walk, but he feels better anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he looks up, Keith is staring at him, somewhere between wonder and confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really didn’t know I had feelings for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro shrugs. “I suspected you had... a puppy love sort of crush on me as a kid. But as you got comfortable with me, it seemed to fade. After... I had no idea. You always acted like I was a friend. You called me your brother twice. I figured that was as good a sign as any.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Keith gives a flat laugh. “You sound like I was so subtle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pushes his bangs out of his face and gives Shiro a flat look. “Shiro, literally everyone gave me shit about my crush on you. My </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom</span>
  </em>
  <span> teased me about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s mouth falls open. “Why? You said you didn’t feel that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, well, not everyone took me at my word. Especially when my actions didn’t add up.” Keith cracks a smile. He pulls Shiro in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. “I guess it’s not a surprise you didn’t notice my crush this time around, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t notice mine!” Shiro protests, trying not to blush. If his cheeks go red, he’s going to blame it on the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro, you hide </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span> you feel, unless you feel like showing it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s true, but Shiro’s bottom lip sticks out. He starts to lead the way up the rocks, just because it’ll get them moving. “You can usually see through me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had no reason to look.” Keith pauses to climb up a steep incline of loose rocks. He moves with the easy grace of a mountain goat, then watches carefully as Shiro follows. Only when they’re safe does he continue. “When did your feelings change?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro brushes his bangs out of his way and gives a bland smile. “There were a lot of little things. I think the first time I saw you that way was when we were stranded together on that rocky moon. By the time you came back with your Mom, I knew. The shift was somewhere between.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cocking his head, Keith looks him over. Then he gives a long sigh. “We wasted so much time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro puts his hand on the small of Keith’s back, leaning into him. “We were busy. Or, you were busy, and I was a clone with the same memories. This time we’ll just have to do better. If anything, we’re ahead of schedule.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cracks a smile at that. “Yeah. Guess there’s nothing for it but to move forward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, unless we’re trapped in a cycle.” Shiro draws a circle in the air. “Who says we stop this time? Maybe we wake up as ten-year-olds again. Or you’ll be older and I’ll be the mentee.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shoves him, sending Shiro stumbling. It doesn’t interrupt his grin at all. “I swear, I’m going to tape your mouth shut one day just so you can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>joke.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You love it,” Shiro says confidently. Despite his tone, his chest warms when he sees Keith’s fond smile back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he straightens, Shiro’s eye catches a dark spot on the rocks ahead. He points over, eyes narrowed as he tries to see more clearly. “Is that the entrance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it.” Keith picks up the pace, making a beeline for the spot. Shiro follows as best he can, but Keith’s pace is breakneck. Determined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t hesitate, but he doesn’t hurry, either. His stomach churns, nervous of either answer. If the Blue Lion is there, then this is all real and they need to figure out how to save the Kerberos crew without depriving the universe of Voltron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it’s not there... well, that’s a whole new set of worries. Where did their dreams come from? Does Voltron not exist? Did the Blue Lion just end up on another planet? Will the Galra still attack Earth, and they’ll be defenseless?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s so lost in thought he nearly walks into Keith’s back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks up to see Keith looking back at him, hand out in offering. “No matter what’s here, we’ll figure it out. We have time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s true. They have time, even before Kerberos. They have the advantage of their knowledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes Keith’s hand and links their fingers together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” he says, infusing his voice with confidence. It’s more to convince himself than Keith, but thankfully he doesn’t get called on it. “Anyway, all we’ll see today are those carvings. We need Lance - or whoever can pilot Blue - to go further.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly.” Keith heads into the cave, chin held high. His posture is confident, but he’s wound just as tight as Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They step inside, far enough for the cave to dim, the sunlight struggling to light the area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the wall, the first of the carvings are just barely visible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro gazes over them, taking in the particular mixture of straight lines and geometric curves. There’s no writing, but the carvings form pictures in the same ‘handwriting’ as Altean script.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s it, then. The lion is here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro takes a deep breath, then lets it out slowly. They have time. They have </span>
  <em>
    <span>time.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He’s still not used to that thought - the tick of the clock has never been his ally. But they can move slowly and thoughtfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, we never did find out where these carvings came from,” Keith says. “Pidge and Hunk said theirs had them too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were creatures on Pidge’s world,” Shiro says. “Friendly, sloth-like people. Maybe they did it.” But even as he says it, it sounds absurd. Three different alien words depicted their lion in the same style?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith hums thoughtfully, frowning. His eyes roam over the carvings, darting from one side to the other as if he can divine the meaning and origin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Keith’s always had strong instincts for the alien and magical in their lives. Shiro leaves him to his thoughts, instead reaching out to brush his still-flesh right fingers over the picture. He’s hoping the level of wear will give some clue to the age.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, the lines light up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floor crumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro has just long enough to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh no</span>
  </em>
  <span> before they’re tumbling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a short ride. They reach for each other as they fall down, but they’ve stepped apart. The tumbling makes it even harder to grab anything. Before they can right themselves, they both splash down into the shallow water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s no better the second time around,” Shiro mutters. He pushes himself up and shoves his now soaked bangs back. “You’d think there could be stairs instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The flat, stunned word stops his rambles instantly. Shiro’s head snaps up to look at Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which also lets him see the lion, surrounded by a shining shield, just behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not Blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s the Black Lion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all his fears, despite the terrifying implications and responsibility that comes from Voltron, Shiro smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, old friend,” he says, quiet and pleased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith turns to smile back at him. Then he starts toward the lion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But when Shiro doesn’t follow, he pauses. “Shiro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s your lion,” Shiro says softly. He manages to keep his smile warm, even though the familiar, bitter twinge jolts through him. The loss of his paladin status will always sting, but he’s also ways known that Keith will be great. It’s no loss to stand at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith blinks at him. Then he rolls his eyes and grabs Shiro by the hand, yanking him forward. “We did this before. It sucked. No more zero-sum-game competitions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But there’s one lion,” Shiro points out, utterly confused. He gestures toward the one, singular lion with his free hand. But when he tries to hold his ground, Keith charges forward, pulling Shiro along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shrugs sharply. He doesn’t look back, striding forward with utter determination. “Yeah, and there’s hundreds of missions, and plenty to do for both of us. Besides, Shiro, I know you even better this time. Don’t tell me you couldn’t fly Red as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Could he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Red Lion runs on instinct. Shiro would say he doesn’t, but he also knows what Keith would say. Just like when they’d discussed the cliff jump - Shiro doesn’t count the milliseconds. He knows when to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So maybe he could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Piloting Black and Red both. Going back and forth, just like their simulation scores - short term, all-out-sprint missions to Keith, long term, patient missions for Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sounds-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it sounds perfect. Once they get there, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They approach the shining shield. Keith glances at him, and together they raise their hands and place them on the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It collapses. Black’s eyes flicker, then shine a brilliant gold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lion opens their mouth and </span>
  <em>
    <span>roars.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro stands below, younger than the first time, and with Keith firmly attached by the hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in years, even before this second timeline, Shiro feels the Black Lion press against his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Warmth. Greetings. Pride. Possessiveness. Satisfaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The complex emotions and sensations that mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Paladin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Or in this case:</span>
  <em>
    <span> My Paladins</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s familiar. Both because Shiro recognizes the feeling, but also because </span>
  <em>
    <span>Black</span>
  </em>
  <span> does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sucks in a breath, realizing it at the same moment as Shiro. “Black remembers too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That might well explain some things. But Shiro deeply hopes this wasn’t a conscious choice. Otherwise, he and Black need to have a long discussion about </span>
  <em>
    <span>asking</span>
  </em>
  <span> before causing existential nightmares. Again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lets go of Keith’s hand so he can step forward. Black lowers down, jaws open to invite them in. The inside lights flicker as well before settling into the familiar purple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That raises another question,” Shiro says, as they head up the ramp and into the cockpit. It, too, lights up, faster than below. He gets the feeling Black is waking up properly now. “Do we tell anyone else about our dreams?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith goes silent. He steps over to the controls and thoughtfully runs his hand over the smooth metal. As he does, the view of the cave flickers onto the screen. “I’m not sure,” he finally says. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks out, mentally reminding Black not to go flying off to Arus just yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets a scoff back. Obviously not. They don’t have enough paladins yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silly him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It depends,” he says, placing his hand on the back of the seat. “I suspect the Garrison will treat us like they did Kerberos’ proof of aliens. Try to control the spread of knowledge and keep it a secret. I have no intention of subjecting us to that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods immediately. “Agreed.” He doesn’t sound angry the way he might have in the last life. Merely thoughtful. He knows how the Garrison works even better this time around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But...” Shiro turns and gives him a little smile. “I think we tell the team. Maybe starting with Allura, when we get to her. Voltron is about trust and relationships. I don’t want to lie to them. I don’t want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lie.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes shine, more intensely purple than ever in light of the Black Lion. He steps forward and takes Shiro by the jaw, pulling him down in a kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you,” he says, once they break apart. “I know that’s not easy for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not for you either,” Shiro says, even as his chest puffs. Because being vulnerable and open isn’t how Shiro is - never has been. But he can finally be honest with Keith and it feels so fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He doesn’t want to lose that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leans in, brushing their lips together once more. “Maybe. But I’m still proud.” He licks his own lips after, which Shiro’s gaze follows helplessly. “So. Black is here. What does that change?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we don’t need Lance immediately,” Shiro says. “We can go as far as Black can, with whatever charge we have left. At least enough to get to the castle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we can only make the trip once, we should go with everyone.” Keith takes Shiro by the shoulders and moves him around, until he gets Shiro to sit in the cockpit. Then he perches himself comfortably in his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, Shiro wraps his arms around Keith. Both of them in the chair should be uncomfortable, but it absolutely isn’t. He could stay like this for hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(There’s a warning rumble from the Black Lion - keep it respectful in their cockpit.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Shiro will consider it.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or as much of everyone as we can. But, if we can go to the Castle of Lions and get started, maybe this time we try to run and shake Sendak immediately. Or let him come and bring Red to us. I think we could take his ship with Black.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith cocks his head, feet kicking in the air as he considers. Shiro should be thinking as well, but it’s hard when Keith is so damn cute. “I think so. I can get us into Sendak’s ship. No need to cut our way in this time.” He lifts his palm and wiggles his fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>True. So they can have two lions and the castle fairly quickly if they need to. The rest they need to wait for the right paladins - the ones they know, or others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets them... Where, exactly? Not to Voltron, certainly. They can’t go save the universe with just the two of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For now, we can keep Black here and work on delaying Kerberos,” Keith finally says, nodding to himself. He leans comfortably against Shiro’s chest. “And in the meantime, we can try to encourage the Garrison to work on more defensive technology. As much as they’ll listen to us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t think that’s very likely. They’ve barely graduated. They have so little clout between them, even if Shiro gets the Kerberos mission. His little cadet leadership mission doesn’t mean anything here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s such a vague direction, too. ‘Be more defensive.’ The technology of Earth isn’t nearly enough to defend against the Galra. Even if they start working on new tech, they’ll need decades more time. Or-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or alien technology to work off of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alien technology like the one they’re sitting in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pushes the thought toward Black, getting permission first. He gets fond indulgence back, which is agreement enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The problem is that Sam is as stubborn as his kids. He wants this because it could be the discovery he’s been dreaming of.” Shiro gestures around them. “But what if we gave him a better discovery?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s eyes go wide. He looks around Black more thoughtfully. “The Garrison could study Black. Learn from technology thousands of years ahead of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And get frustrated by the magic,” Shiro agrees, smirking just a bit. He wants Earth defended and innocent lives saved, but... well, he’ll need to get his kicks in the meantime.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we want the Garrison to have access to Black?” Keith asks. His eyes narrow. “They’ll probably keep them a secret just as much as aliens. More. They’ll limit access.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have found Black. And Black’s most likely to only respond to us. If they want to learn more than physical construction, they need us involved. Plus, if we get Sam involved, he won’t cut us out.” Shiro’s smirk grows. “And what do you think will happen if they don’t let us leave when we want to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith bursts into laughter. It’s not the nicest sound. Shiro loves him all the more for it. “That’ll be a sight.” He fixes that wild, breathless smile on Shiro. “Yeah. I think that’s the best plan. We protect Earth and stop Kerberos. Then we wait for the right paladins.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a plan. A real plan, not just conjecture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, best of all, it doesn’t lead to torture. The cloning process may have cured Shiro, but it’s not worth the pain. This time, he’ll ask Allura and Coran instead of resigning himself. Between them and their allies, he’s sure there’ll be a solution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro pulls out his phone and holds it up. “Want me to call Sam back? Tell him we’ll be happy to come for dinner, but we have something to show him first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles. It shows his longer canines and a spark of mischief. “He should bring Matt, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro laughs, because he’s pretty sure Matt will actually explode when he sees Black, at least with his current life experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, with his arms wrapped around Keith and his eyes bright with excitement, Shiro makes the call.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t know the future perfectly. Their memories have just as much wrong as they have right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But together, they can handle anything.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith wakes slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a rare treat to wake at his own pace. He’s not a natural early riser, though he does enjoy using the morning productively. So usually his alarm blares him out of a comfortable sleep - when an emergency doesn’t wake him even earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today, though, Keith has the day off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith rolls over onto his stomach, eyes still closed. His braid flops over his bare shoulder and drops onto the pillow. He can feel how messy it is after sleeping in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as warm and comfortable as he is, Keith knows something is missing. He reaches out to the other side of the bed and scrapes against bare sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith grumbles. Shiro has the day off too. If he’s trying to take conference calls or work on diplomatic strategy, Keith is going to kick his ass clear across the castle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as he wakes bit by bit, Keith’s sensitive ears twitch. The noise from the kitchen is subtle but clear. A creak of a chair, a long sip, a mug being set down on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s nearby, then. Keith relaxes and pulls the covers up farther, content to drowse longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Except he hears the door creak open and a canine huff of breath. The flash of blue light is visible even behind Keith’s eyelids. A heavy weight suddenly appears on top of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith groans and scrambles, trying to at least roll onto his side. But that only exposes his face to Kosmo, who takes the opportunity to start licking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kosmo!” Shiro calls, voice pitched so low it’s nearly a rumble. “I told you to let Keith sleep!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kosmo’s ears snap back and his tail stills. But his post-scolding shame only lasts a second before he goes right back to his enthusiastic greeting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get off,” Keith groans, shoving at Kosmo’s ruff. But his tone is only fond, and that just makes Kosmo’s tail wag faster. “Eugh, keep your damn tongue in your mouth!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steps approach. Shiro pushes the door open enough for him to slip through and leans against the doorframe. He crosses his arms, metal intertwining with flesh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowledge of one timeline couldn’t predict all harm, unfortunately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t help the little pang in his chest at the sight of the prosthetic right arm. He wanted to protect Shiro from that kind of pain this time around, but it just happened differently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, the sleek Altean design suits him better than the arm Galra did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith can’t hang onto the old hurt, not when his husband is smiling at him so softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s excited to celebrate your birthday with you,” Shiro says, watching them both. His eyes are gentle and warm, his posture completely content.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He can be excited without licking me,” Keith grouses, but it’s still without any heat. He does finally manage to haul Kosmo off of him. It was much easier when he was a puppy and not the size of a pony.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro leans his head against the doorframe as he watches, eyes half-lidded. “Up for the day? I was waiting to start breakfast. I thought you’d sleep in longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.” Keith considers his warm blanket and pillow, then his husband. In the end, the answer is easy. “I’m up. Give me a minute. Take Kosmo, will you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll try. Can’t promise more.” Shiro whistles, high and encouraging. Kosmo’s head snaps back around to watch him, tail going again. “Come on, boy. We’ll get your breakfast done before we start ours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kosmo </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaps,</span>
  </em>
  <span> his weight and strength enough to rock the entire bed from the force. He vanishes at the peak of the arch, and there’s the clatter of paws from the kitchen. Chuckling, Shiro follows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith brushes his hair out of his face, blowing the strands that have fallen free of the braid out of his face. He stumbles his way to the dresser and grabs a pair of boxers and an old shirt of Shiro’s. He’ll be underdressed compared to Shiro’s silky pajama set, but it’s not like there’s anyone to impress in their quarters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s dressed enough to feel comfortable wandering around, Keith moves into the kitchen. Shiro sets down Kosmo’s bowl, keeping a steady eye on the wolf. Kosmo sits, ears perked and tail wagging furiously. As soon as Shiro nods, he rockets for his food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s coffee brewing, so Keith heads over and pours himself a cup. Shiro slides him the sugar bowl and creamer without even looking over, and Keith grabs it equally blindly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now armed with the sweet promise of caffeine, Keith settles down at their table, across from Shiro’s mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in front of a slice of cake. One with neon orange frosting and piping that looks like a spider web.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles, even as he rolls his eyes. “What did you have to bribe Hunk to get him to do these decorations?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be giving Yellow a wash,” Shiro says, sitting down as well. He sips at his coffee, poker-faced over Keith’s ridiculous, Halloween-themed treat. “Small price for tradition, really. Happy 30th birthday, Keith.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ridiculous.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro only smirks, because he knows ‘ridiculous’ is a synonym for ‘cute’. He toasts Keith with his mug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith shakes his head, even as he starts eating. It’s way too much sugar for first thing in the morning, but at least Hunk’s frosting doesn’t have any of the artificial flavors of the Garrison version. Plus, Shiro’s right. It’s their silly tradition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing that Shiro faked the ‘coincidence’ of the first birthday slice only makes it better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gesture is sweet, literally, but it’s also way too much for his taste buds. He’s not a kid who can eat a mountain of junk and bounce back anymore. When he’s had enough, he slides the rest over to Shiro.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro raises a brow, but takes the fork. “Don’t get sick of it yet. The rest comes out this afternoon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll have the team to help get through it then,” Keith says, shrugging it off. Instead, he nurses his coffee while Shiro starts on breakfast. Kosmo saunters over, licking his chops, and Keith idly rubs his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Keith’s started on his second cup, Shiro sets down the plate. The bacon is maybe a tad less crispy than Keith’s preference, but otherwise Shiro has made remarkable strides in his cooking prowess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(‘Knowing I’ll actually have the years to practice makes a difference’, Shiro had said. Keith’s still not sure if he was serious or if it was his shit sense of humor. Possibly both.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They eat in comfortable silence. Shiro leaves the lion’s share of the bacon to Keith, while adding ketchup to his eggs. Keith only winces out of habit rather than any real disgust. Kosmo flops out under the table, his head on Keith’s bare feet and his tail thwacking Shiro’s thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s good. The food, and the simplicity of it. Two decades ago, Keith couldn’t have imagined such a peaceful, domestic moment. He wouldn’t have wanted it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, quiet hours like these are the best parts of his life. Even compared to flying robot lion spaceships.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he finishes up, Keith wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. It’s a sign of how long they’ve been together that Shiro doesn’t even blink. “What’s the schedule for today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t that be your choice, Birthday Boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith smiles at Shiro over the rim of his mug. “Schedules are why I keep you around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not true.” Shiro pouts outrageously, his eyes bright with mischief. “You keep me around to be pretty. I’m your trophy husband.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s snort only makes the pout deepen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro fishes his phone out of his pocket. Most likely he doesn’t actually need to check the calendar, but he’s nothing if not thorough. “We have the morning to ourselves, thank fuck. Matt and Adam snuck in for lunch before we meet up with the whole team. Then dinner with your mom and Kolivan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s brows raise. “Cake before dinner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s your birthday, it’s allowed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, they’ll be full at dinner, but not like his mom will be mad. She doesn’t even cook - they’ll be bringing something in from the commissary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Evening to ourselves, too,” Keith notices. His lips curl up pointedly and he looks Shiro up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro meets his gaze steadily, hands folded demurely on the table. “I made sure to finish up early. I figure you’ll want to be ready for bed by 9. Now that you’re an old man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s mouth falls open. He kicks out under the table, which makes Kosmo grumble at the loss of his pillow. “Hey! You’re older than me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve dealt with the old man jokes for nine months,” Shiro says, pointing threateningly at Keith. “Now it’s your turn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, shit. Keith had known this was coming. It had felt so worth it until this moment. It turned out, turn about isn’t nearly as fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Keith grumbles, Shiro continues on. “I did try to keep a few hours open. I thought maybe you’d want to take a joyride. Red or Black. They both have stored energy, and Allura said she could make a wormhole wherever we’d like to go. The lions can make one to come back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith sits up straighter, eyes wide. It takes a while for the lions to build up that kind of energy, and usually they’re conserved for emergencies. It’s pretty frivolous for them to use it for something so goofy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But... well, do they really need to think that way? The Galra empire is over. Not every little choice is life and death anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks over Shiro’s face, and sees only serene fondness. It’s comforting. Shiro took the responsibility of saving the universe so personally, so much to heart. This is a small risk, but he’s still willing to take it and shoulder the possible consequences. For Keith. For his birthday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a gift. In a way Shiro probably never meant, but that Keith cherishes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Keith gives him a soft smile. He knows it doesn’t show how touched he is by the simple gesture, but it’s the best he can do. “Let’s go in Red.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro nods agreeably. No surprise there - Red is just more fun for a joyride. “We can try to get that in this morning before lunch, if you want. But we can stay out as long as we want later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight.” It’ll be more fun that way. “Thank you, Shiro.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro glances at him, as if surprised by the simple thanks. “Of course. It’s your 30th, Keith. That’s special.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From his easy tone, he means just that 30 is a milestone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s right. 30 is a special year.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Keith has no memories of being this age. His dream stopped when he was 29. There may have been more - he didn’t remember dying, after all. But that’s when he woke up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in two decades, Keith has no foreknowledge of the future, even an alternate universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something must show on his face, because Shiro’s brows knit together. “If something is bothering you, we can change it around,” he offers. “Too much?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It’s great. Really, Shiro, it is.” Keith folds his hands in his lap. He tries to shove down the sudden nerves, but he can’t manage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro doesn’t buy it in the least. He stands and steps around the table so he can kneel next to Keith’s chair. “Hey. What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get up.” Keith fights off a blush and tugs on Shiro’s arms. “You’re going to hurt your knees like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro flicks him on the arm. “Hey, you’re 30 too now. Enough of that.” His concern doesn’t fade at all. “Keith, please. Be honest with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old mantra, a promise after four years of needless lies, hits home. Keith swallows hard and gives a wane smile. “It’s dumb. I just... when did your memories end?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro’s brows jump to his hairline. Then his expression softens again. “Early this year. You too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith nods and swallows hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Shiro puts his right hand over Keith’s and squeezes. “It’s alright to be frightened. But we’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith grips the prosthetic arm back, his eyes roaming up and down the shining metal. Even the memories hadn’t been infallible. But they’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>helped.</span>
  </em>
  <span> “If I can’t see what’s coming, I can’t protect you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning up, Shiro gives Keith a soft kiss. “Yes, you can. You know you can. Last time around, you brought me back from two deaths without any help. Now, the war is over. We don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> those memories. You already saved me, Keith. It’s okay to let it go. That’s not your worth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not about worth. It’s what’s important to me.” But Keith understands Shiro’s point. He runs his fingers through the still all-black hair, head cocked. “Do you ever miss it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro looks up, trying to follow Keith’s hand, as if he can track it on the top of his head. “The white hair? Not really. It was better than just the bangs, but I like this. Why? Do you miss it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Keith continues to brush through, making it into a petting motion. Shiro closes his eyes and leans into it, perfectly content and trusting. “It was pretty. Ethereal. But not worth you dying. Or bleaching, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You might not have to wait that long.” Shiro angles his head to show his temple and pulls his hair back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith squints, trying to see what he’s talking about. Then he finally spots a few grey hairs nestled in all the black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Snorting, Keith pinches one and plucks it out. He rolls his eyes at Shiro’s betrayed stare. “You’re such a drama queen. You get a couple of grays and start worrying over it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not worry,” Shiro mutters, though his sulky tone betrays the lie. He can’t hide his vanity streak, not from Keith. He knows how many products Shiro has in the bathroom. “I just don’t need more old man jokes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Poor baby,” Keith kisses him on the forehead. “Your life is so difficult.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is,” Shiro agrees flatly, even as he smiles. “But hey, seriously. You don’t need the memories. They were nice while we had them, but things are so different they’re useless anyway. Besides, we didn’t need them. Not really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They came in handy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, on occasion. Not so much anymore. I won’t complain about some of the changes.” Shiro glances toward the door. He’s probably thinking of Adam on board, content with his recently moved-in boyfriend. But Keith’s eyes are on the unscarred bridge of his nose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith leans forward and presses a kiss, right where it would have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro blinks, pulled out of his thoughts, and focuses again. “Still, those aren’t what’s kept us going. Our skills and our teamwork is. I believe in us. We’ll be okay, because we’re together.” He takes both of Keith’s hands in his. It exposes their wedding rings to the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A swell of fond emotion chokes Keith. He smiles against the sudden knot in his throat. “Yeah,” he manages. “I do too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro brings Keith’s hand to his lips and kisses the ring. “Good. So don’t stress yourself out over something that might never happen. That’s my job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith barks out a laugh and pulls his hand away. He replaces it with his lips. “You’re a sap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mhmm.” Shiro tilts his head and opens his mouth, deepening the kiss. When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed. “Now, how do you want to spend your birthday morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wrapping an arm around Shiro’s neck, Keith looks him up and down. “I can think of a couple of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, really?” Shiro stands, sliding his metal arm under Keith’s knees as he goes. With Keith’s grip, he’s able to easily scoop him up. “Well, I’m stumped, so you’ll have to guide me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that.” Keith over Shiro’s shoulder until he can see Kosmo’s head sticking out under the table. “Hey. Go visit Mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kosmo’s ears flop back against his head. He lets out a whine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No arguments. I don’t trust you after last week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those huge puppy dog eyes watch him. When Keith doesn’t even blink, Kosmo gives a frustrated huff. Then he disappears in a flash of blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro chuckles as he heads back into the bedroom. “How long are you going to keep that up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Until he learns that the middle of sex isn’t the time to bring us his tug-of-war rope,” Keith grumbles. He ignores Shiro’s chuckle. His husband might only find it funny, but he also spoils the wolf rotten. Someone has to keep up the discipline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro sets Keith onto the bed and crawls over him. Despite his tone in the kitchen, Shiro just leans down to kiss him. It’s slow and warm, like his lazy morning before Kosmo decided to interrupt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Shiro says, murmuring the words into Keith’s mouth. “I’m so lucky to have had this decade with you. Even luckier that I get more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Many more.” Keith wants to say that Shiro deserves everything and all the time he wants. But they both know ‘deserving’ isn’t how the universe works. It’s about what opportunities they create and taking them with both hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As kids, neither of them expected time to be on their side. Keith was a raggedy, angry child of the system, and Shiro had an expiration date written in his DNA.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve both overcome that. They did it together, and with the help of their team.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Keith doesn’t have his extra memories anymore. But Shiro’s right. They don’t need them. They can take on the universe - have taken on the universe. And they succeeded because they were together, not the dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith buries his hands in Shiro’s hair, deepening the kiss but making no effort to go further. Not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve got time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” Keith says, and admires how easy the words have become. Once, he’d spit them out to this same man, in the vain hope of waking him from Haggar’s control. If he used that four letter word again in the years after, he could count it on one hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, they’re on his lips first thing in the morning, last thing at night, and so many moments in between. It comes more easily to others, too. He can casually take Lance’s ‘you love me’ jokes or Hunk’s proud exclamations that they’re family. He can say ‘I love you’ to his mother, despite the years apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith’s life is full of love and people who love him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it all starts with this man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s good,” Shiro says, pressing their foreheads together. “Because otherwise it’d be really awkward that we’re married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith groans and rolls his eyes. “I hate your fucking sense of humor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up and kiss me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro laughs and does.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time that he remembers, Keith is 30 years old.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The future is dark. Unknown to him, the same way it is for everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Here, on his bed with his husband’s smile against his lips, Keith isn’t afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, he’s excited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bring it on.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Updates every 3 days.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>